Yesterday I spent another hour reliving the accident and all the feelings that surround it. I always start in the same place, Loughlin lying lifeless on the bench of the suburban, cold, so cold. I am half out of my mind, more than half. Yelling at the top of my voice that I have killed my son. I have a hard time leaving that scene in my memory. I am laying next to him. I am trying to stay with him but I am being pulled away, forced to leave him, being told that everything will be alright, but I know more than any of the bystanders. I know that it will never be ok again. I had already given one of my babies to them. They take them. They cut them open. They try to sew them up and make them look alive again, but they are cold, so cold. My babies are gone and they will never come back. In my memory I am yelling, "Don't lie to me. It is not ok. It will never be fine. I will never be fine. Rhiannon is gone, cold, dead , in the ground, and now Loughlin is leaving and his fate is the same. He will be gone forever." I hate all of them. I hate everyone. I hate God. I really hate God. This is a cruel existence. What is the point of all of it? Am I getting better? Is this anger, again part of the process? I have been angry for so long. I am going to end up a bitter old woman. I am bitter? My heart is broken. It breaks constantly every moment. Maybe surviving is all I can muster.
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