This was written almost a year and a half after I lost precious David.
February 2, 2005, today I did not wake up as sad as yesterday. I am sad however. I am tired of people telling me that I am depressed. A broken heart is what I have. I ache. I hurt. I am sorry that I lost my precious son. I just can’t accept it as the norm and just go on with my life as if all is fine and dandy. It is not fine. It will never be fine. It will never be like before. There is an emptiness that no one can fill. No matter how hard I try to recover and say life goes on, it does so, but not the same way. David will never see the sun shine in the daytime or the moon and stars at night. I hurt at the thought. It makes me so mad that he is cut off. I am actually furious. I am the angriest that ever was. I try to turn to faith and acceptance, but it does not comfort me to the level that I am normal again. I do not think that I will ever be normal again. How could I be normal? I lost part of me. There is no way that I can get that part fully back. I am not satisfied to just have memories despite the fact that I am thankful that such a thing exists. David should not have died. I think that my faith is shattered because I lost him. I want to reconnect with people, but find it difficult to do so at times. I see the shallowness and trivia of life more than before. I am tired of people rattling the same lingo that they hear over and over again when someone dies. They do not know because they do not feel the pain that I am feeling. How could they feel the same way? They did not lose their treasure, their precious son, their hope for the future. I do not blame them. However, I wish that they would only say that they are sorry, or just give me a hug. The sting of death continues to pain me. I taught and then ran to the grief group. It was good. We talked about our children and that made us all feel better for the time being.
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