Yep, still the grief takes my breath away like I have been punched in the gut. Not every minute of the day but every hour. Improvement? Healing? Not sure. So maybe we will get to the point where I will only feel like screaming in despair and pain once a day. I do it you know, scream. In the car, by myself, at night, alone.
But for now, I get out of bed everyday, I work, I am still a mother and a wife. Manfred, my husband, who is going just as much if not more grief as I am. We talk, we are in disbelief that he was taken from us, shell shock. We fought a war and lost. He knows so much better than I how people are able to survive complete destuction of life and still carry on. He grew up in Germany, hearing stories of the war, and the rebuilding of lives and families that were torn apart. But a blown out building can be rebuilt, if only this was as easy.
I am not sure how I can honor Junior. Or to what extent I should. For now, my pain is what I have and I am holding on to it until the day I do not need to anymore and I can remember my baby with joy, but that day seems so far away. My pain is like my love for him, it is real, and I can feel it if I cannot hold him.
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