• I still blame myself for your death

    by  • September 5, 2010 • Children, Grief, Guilt, Heartbreak, Love - Pure and Simple, Those Gone Before Us • 0 Comments

    May 16, 2005.
    Your little brother was born a month too early, so they shipped him off to Nashville. We followed, with you and your sister in hand, and stayed there for 10 days until he got to come home. You were so proud to be a big brother.

    May 29,2005.
    I got the call that your great grandpa passed away…I couldn’t cope. He was like my father, and he raised me since I was a baby. I did not want you guys at the funeral. You were only a few weeks past 3, and your sister was even younger. I couldn’t let you guys know what death was yet. You were too young. So I sent you with your Aunt Kelly, and her with an old friend and I went and mourned and cried, but I knew I would survive the loss. Until I got home, with your sister and your baby brother, and you weren’t there. Then I got the news…you and Kelly were both killed on your way to the funeral.

    Hydroplaned….semi…ejected…didn’t suffer. Those were the bits of conversation I remember that night. And then I realized after buying your last outfit, and your Bob The Buidler hay, that it was all my fault. If I would have just taken you with me, if I could have seen past the pain that I was feeling, I could have saved you from that night. You would still be with us. And your father and I would still be married. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t, and we aren’t.

    The guilt of maybe preventing the accident in whole, ate away at me and made me bitter. The marriage ended, but the pain piled up. You never think that you will outlive your child, you always assume it will be someone else, but then it happens. We found a busted disposable camera at the accident site…we took it to wal mart. They were able to salvage all of them, and when we saw them I died a little more inside. They were from 5 days before the accident. You were so happy, standing next to your brother in the NICU, so protective.

    I miss your smile, I miss your laugh. I miss having your little cheeks to kiss every night when you said I love you Mommy. I will never again be able to do this. I can not forgive myself.

    June 1, 2005
    I stopped believing in God, and I died.

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