I haven't been there in awhile. Weeks honestly. My son's 2nd birthday knocked the wind out of me. A date on the calendar ripped at the scabs on my soul in ways I can't explain. Every since my few visits around his birthday, the pain had just been too horrific to visit the cemetery.
It's almost 2am and with all my might I'm resisting the urge to grab car keys and go. I need to be close to him. The feel of the grass on my cheek seems to be a distant memory. Collapsing on the very earth he is buried beneath is the only action I experience that quantifies the sorrow my heart carries every single day. It's my equivalent of checking on a sleeping child. the difference being for 20 years every time I checked, they were still alive. I've lost that blind faith for the rest of my life.
I went to say to a friend that it's so nice to have everyone home tonight, but the reality is that will never happen. I will never have all of my kids home together. It's a twisted road of words I'm attempting to navigate. How do I respect my son if I don't acknowledge his absence?
So tonight I'll stare at the ceiling for a little bit longer. Tears burn my face in a way only endless tears do. I miss him. Yet somehow my heart will keep beating until morning. Then I can honor him by loving his sisters and working my hardest to be an example of how we want the world to #doitforcj.
But tonight, I miss him.
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