Tonight as I drove through my neighborhood, I saw toddlers all dressed up with their parents walking around excited and playful. I had forgotten it was Halloween. Prince was supposed to be a monkey. The costume is still hanging in the closet. He will never wear it, nor will he wear any other Halloween costume.
On October 20th when I learned my son had died, it felt like the world stopped, like my heart stopped beating, and like time stood still. As I watched the little people walking around my neighborhood, I felt like I was being punched in the chest. Time hadn’t stood still and other people would go on to keep raising their children. I, on the other hand, now had to learn how to be a childless mother.
A few days ago, I went to a doctor and asked for some anxiety medication. While I had been fighting taking medication for the past 15 months (because I was breastfeeding baby boy), I no longer had that excuse and I needed to find a way to sleep. I hadn’t eaten in five days since I had seen Prince alive. I felt like I was dying.
After hearing my story (the five minute version), the doctor gladly wrote me a perscription and said, “This might sound insensitive, but your child dying sounds like it could have been just the thing to get you away from this monster. You need to see the silver lining here.” As the tears streamed down my face, I stared at him in shock and horror. ‘He couldn’t possibly be a father’, I thought. How could he say something like this to a mother who just lost her child.
I hate Luc. He is the devil in human skin. I believe with all my heart that he is the reason my son will never get to say “I love you”, bring me home a report card, graduate from kindergarten, or do just about anything people tend to take for granted. I hope I never have to see Luc’s ugly and villainess face again, but this reality doesn’t give me an ounce of comfort when the cost is my son. I would have been happy to fight Luc for the rest of my life if it meant my son getting the chance to live a full life.