Get it together...

***************Warning. The following post is riddled with anger. Warning.***************




Let me tell you. I'm feeling angry at the world today. Really angry. Sitting here, I typed up this whole long post and boy, I know it would have really stirred the pot. And then with the stroke of one button, I deleted it all. Then sat here staring at the blank screen. What's wrong? What's really wrong? What's really eating at me?

There are three very large boxes sitting on my porch. They are just sitting there. My husband is not here. He is at a local theme park with my son and his nephews; took the day off. The littlest has been sick again and I stayed home today with him. So there are these boxes I have been ignoring. I know I need to bring them in. I feel like bringing them in and hiding them from him, from the world, and never thinking about them again. I know that when he gets home, it will ruin all good moods previously garnered from a fun carefree day living life.

In these boxes are the last four months of Lucas' life. All medical records, all notes on his daily progress (or lack thereof, obviously), every observation from every nurse, doctor, janitor, every Tom Dick and Harry who had one iota to do with him. Kind of sucks the life right out of you. Every time I've walked past the inside of the front door, I have felt a sharp pain in my side. Like someone has stabbed me again with the reality check that 'hey, your son, he's out there, in the hot sun, baking away, just like at the cemetary.' Forgive me readers, forgive me my crassness. It is the worst pain in the world losing a child and having to pretend you're ok to the whole world even though you have a new beautiful wonderful vibrant new baby in your world. Even though you see others who have children who have challenges set forth before them, and get frustrated that they cannot accept (cannot accept what exactly?). You know what? I'm going to sign off before I say anything I will regret. It's not you I'm mad at. Shouldn't take it out on you.

Damn those boxes. Damn that they are on our doorstep. How's that for a huge reminder that your son died right before your eyes? And why you ask, why can't I 'get over that'? Hmmm. I don't know, why don't you figure it out for me.

Jenn