I just looked at Thomas' pictures again (for the millionth time). I still shake my head in wonder, awe and agony when I see his perfect, tiny face - and when I let it really sink in. He was born. He was ours. And he's gone.
Healing is such a delicate balancing act. I want to feel better - happier - but I don't want to forget him. The thing is, his birth is tied up in such horror and sorrow that it's hard to remember him without remembering all the pain. It's harder still to look at that beautiful little face without it literally breaking my heart in two.
So what do I do? Forget? Remember? Which one is easier to do? Which one hurts less?
I don't cry every time I see the pictures, not anymore. But on the days when I let myself really study them and really think about it I get a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach - a sort of fluttering horror. It's sorrow, longing and desperation that I know is never really going to go away.
Can you ever really heal after something like this? Can I ever really be happy again? I mean REALLY happy?
I wish I knew. I've been happy since he died - I've smiled and laughed and meant it - but just underneath the surface there's a deep pool of sorrow that's just sitting there. It's always waiting for me to dive in and it's always waiting to drown my happiness.
I hate that. I hate the sorrow, but I love my son. I can't wait for the day when the two aren't inextricably linked. I worry that day will never come, but I live in hope.
We live in hope.