It's been over 2 weeks since my sun was called home. My grief has been up and down, side to side, sharp left turn, u-turn, over, and around--a mess! it's strange, I can easily look at his baby pictures and smile with a pleasant nostalgia. But when I look at his pictures of his last days here on earth, tears WELD AND RUSH..spilling onto my cheeks. My face gets hot, my heart palpitates like the speed of light, and guilt consumes me. Lets talk about the guilt. I feel, as a mother, the one job we have as a parent is to protect our children. That's our one job. You cannot imagine the guilt and failure I feel. And I know, for those who love me, and have repeatedly told me, accidents happen or this is not your fault, Brittini. And I want to believe you. But the problem with knowing your child is, I know he looked for me. I know in his beautiful head, he was calling out for mommy. And I couldn't hear his cries, I couldn't reach him fast enough, and I feel so guilty! I feel as though I failed my sun. And it so hard to speak to him, because all i can say is, I'm so sorry. I'm so so so so sorry my beautiful baby. I'm sorry I let you down. I argue in my head everyday for God or the universe, or the soul guardians of the other realm to give my baby back because I learned my lesson. Please just give him back to me! So I can tell him myself, how sorry mommy is. I just want us to get back on track. Back to the life we had planned. But instead, I'm sitting in probably the most fancy and beautiful apartment in my life, waiting to return back to California, to start intense grief and trauma therapy.
My family, Yoa's paternal family, my friends and the whole of Bastimentos Island are the best! Really they are. Everyone has stepped up and been there for me in their own unique and thoughtful ways. Finding the right words to comfort me, doing their best to make me feel relaxed and at ease. Cooking delicious meals, donating to my son's future school for swimming, holding vigils and space for my sun. For saying his name. For telling me he's here with me, when I don't believe. For allowing me to cry and cry and cry and for them crying with me. For always answering the phone. For the strangers that relate and who have reached out and shared their own journeys with grief and losing their own children. This journey feels impossible. I feel like I will never smile authentically again. But that's not true.
Deep inside of me, there is this small drop of hope. That i will be able to carry this with me and that it won't feel so heavy. But I'm not there, yet. And that's the amount of hope that I hold on this journey so far.
