I will never see my son again. Except in my mind. In my memories. In videos. In pictures.
Like right now. I can't sleep. Because it hit me once again.
I have this typical Michael phrase that I play in my head. Daily. I have this fear that one day I won't remember the way he said it. Or the way he put emphasis on certain syllables.
I fear the not remembering.
I am afraid.
I am awkward amongst people. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I can say that I am OK. I'm not. I can laugh. But it is not sincere. It is not filled with joy.
I am afraid of not experiencing joy again.
My family was happy. We were loving. We were close.
And now, we just exist. As if waiting for something. Anything.
Days are meant to be gotten through. Not lived.
My days are just hallways to my nights. My nights are the passageways to a new day.
Just when I think that I have hit the depths of despair.
I find a new level.