Three years

We’re coming up to three years and I’m facing the anniversary with trepidation again, but less so than before. I remember how in those first horrific days I wanted only to be with Malcolm; I agonised over the thought that he was alone and afraid.  As weeks and months passed I felt guilty for abandoning him, for not dying too. As months passed into a year I fantasized about creating a near death experience so I could see him and hug him once more and make sure he was alright; but I didn’t want to die, I would make sure to be resuscitated so that I wouldn’t cause my family any more pain. Now, at three years, even that fantasy seems empty, ridiculous even. Now I wear his jacket to Mardi Gras parades, I read his Facebook page where friends and family still post messages, I look at photos, and sometimes, like today, I help his dad tend to his grave. A parent’s nightmare — having to tend their child’s grave. But that is the last thing we can do for him now, one last act of love.


One response to “Three years

  1. I agonize with you… I remember the days full of fog, the days of fear, the days of not wanting to wake to the unending pain… I still have them, they come and go like tidal waves…. It does not get better we just adjust to the emptiness…. Sending comforting hugs for the days ahead….

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