Sorry about yesterday, everyone. I am so thankful for your love and support. It was just one of those days when the images keep screaming inside my mind for hours on end: the blood, the brains, the quietness in his chest, the look on this face, the shape of his head, the smell of fresh gunpowder, the sounds of my own wailing, the feeling of loneliness and longing. I just find it impossible to shake these thoughts from my mind sometimes. At the height of it all, I felt strong goosebumps on my left thigh and knew it was Erik trying to comfort me. It should have been enough. And I feel so horrible knowing my grief hurts my baby boy so deeply, because he’s been through enough pain all of his life. How dare I contribute more to those his many years of heartache.

I went to bed at 8:20 last night after taking a handful of sleeping pills, not enough to kill myself, of course. I’m not that much of a selfish ass. But enough to take me to a place of peace, hoping, in fact, for a brief meeting with Erik. I didn’t get that meeting, but I did get that glorious escape from horror, thank God. So now what? I pray to God those images won’t come back for a long, long time. The constant underlying grief screaming in my heart and mind are difficult enough to stiffle.

Right after I fell asleep, my husband smelled Erik’s wretchedly stinky sock odor wafting like a heavenly perfume. I’m glad for him, and, through his experience, I reap a vicarious solace.

To my mind: please give me peace, have mercy on a heart that bleeds a raw and relentless grief.