Every night, I pray to a god that took my baby boy away from me. I’ve asked “why” more times than I can count. I’ve begged for Him to turn back time and give me another chance to be a better mom. I wouldn’t get so annoyed when he’s having a rough day and wants to be held the entire time, I wouldn’t be on my phone at all while he’s awake, I wouldn’t leave him to cry when I got frustrated. I’ve apologized innumerable times for what I did the first time I was pregnant. But that was unforgivable, I think. That is why He took my baby from me, I think. I don’t know how many more times I have to pray for forgiveness, how many more opportunities I need to take to make someone else’s life better, or how long I will have to suffer without my son but I am trying my best. I didn’t kill myself, so I feel like maybe that’s a start. Especially since killing myself would end the life of another tiny baby, as well.
I don’t even feel like I’m alive anymore anyway. There is nothing in my day but pain and longing, with a façade of acceptance and smiles so everyone around me can be okay. In a way, I almost wish I wasn’t pregnant so I wouldn’t have a reason to stay here. That I could walk outside and get in my truck and not care if I get hit by a meandering semi. I could welcome death with open arms and a genuine smile on my face, ready to lift my sweet boy to receive a million kisses and hugs for the rest of eternity. That is probably exactly why I am pregnant. God knows I’ve wanted to die many times in the past. He knew this would kill my heart. Maybe it’s a test, to see if I will let another of my children die at my own hand. To see if I’ve learned my lesson. I have… God, have I ever. My whole life is now dedicated to finding a way back to my little boy. If I have to survive, it’ll be for him and this new baby. I’m so terrified it use won’t be enough… That my time here will end and I’ll move on to the next life, but I won’t be worthy enough to be with him.
I talk to Dax a lot. When I pray, I ask God to let him hear my messages, every time I tell him I love him. I promise him we’ll be together again soon. Nights are the hardest. The house is quiet, my boyfriend is asleep and I’m once again left with my thoughts. I always see him as he was the morning I found him. That’s why I stay awake so late, til 2, 3, 4am. Until exhaustion sets in, it’s either distraction or tears. More often than not, a combination of the two. My boyfriend tells me to lie down and close my eyes and I’ll fall asleep. He doesn’t understand how insane that sounds to me. I have tried that – and ended up lying here for four hours, waiting to sleep, waiting to sleep… He didn’t see what I saw that morning. He didn’t hold his dead baby in his arms. I tried to write more about that morning but I can’t. Just imagining his face that way kills me all over again, a hundred times in a second. This must be what hell feels like.