Some days feel like it was literally 10 minutes ago.
I just got the phone call.
John just told me he was gone. Told me he was sorry. Begged me not to leave him.
I just sat in the chair and stared for 3 hours while I waited for him to come back from Georgetown.
People just started to tell me they were so sorry...they didn't understand...they'd do whatever they could for us.
I just got wheeled down to the lobby...not holding my baby. Instead, holding my bags...and a box with a couple of things his little body touched.
People were just looking at me...knowing something terrible must have happened to the catatonic-looking woman.
John just helped me into the car.
The empty car seat took up the whole back seat.
Adam and Charlotte came and held us and cried.
We had to go to CVS and get medicine.
We sat and waited for the prescriptions. I was thirsty and opened a Sprite.
NO ONE KNEW. The world kept going and NO ONE THERE KNEW MY SON WAS GONE.
It is impossible to me that my life was so, so drastically broken and shattered...but it was business as usual at the local CVS.
It's been over two years.
Some days, it feels less than twenty seconds ago. My heart aches for him and I can hear and smell and remember every single thing from those days.
And then seconds later, I can't remember anything. It's fuzzy. It's blurry.
It hurts and I don't even want to think about it because I can't stop crying.
I'm still pulling out clothes bought for Matthew to let Luke wear. 18-24 months/2 T is the last tub. Some days, I can't even take them out of the drawers. I remember every place every item was bought. Every happy and excited emotion that was behind the purchases I desperately waited 10 years to finally be making.
Some days, those emotions mock me. Sting. Shoot daggers right at my heart and scream, "One more thing he'll never see. Never wear. He's never coming back."
I know he's not.
Some days, though, it seems like that sears my skin more than others.