The truth.

I was putting the bed back together, after washing all of the linens. I had all ready sorted through two storage cases, vacuumed the dining room, living room, foyer, staircase, and hallways. I've done four loads of laundry. I prepared dinner. I watched an episode of Game of Thrones. I read a book. I'm like Rapunzel in Tangled.. just keep on going.

Still, I am restless. I can't do enough. I can't stick to one task. I am bouncing between things. Except vacuuming. I vacuum constantly - dissapearing things.

I was putting the bed back together, and I had to go around the giant suitcase Jason and I brought to the hospital. So I opened it, and started putting things away/in the laundry.

I got to Henry's little suit, his tiny tie, his Sweetheart quilt, and his hat. And then I lost it.

I raged. I cried. I screamed. I begged. Anything. Please. Just give him back. Anything. I clutched his little hat as hard as I could back to my heart. If only an essence of him remained, I wanted it in me. I don't know how long I stayed like that. My eyes are swollen, and my lungs hurt. I hurt everywhere, but it's not physical - it's not from overuse. It's from the pain. The constant feeling that part of me is missing.

I don't know where his little Whale jammies are. It's what he wore for his entire life. I want them. I need to hold them, I need them. I don't know if they ever brought them back from when he went away, down to the organ surgery. Maybe they are at the funeral home. My little boy.

He's still at the funeral home. We were denied burial assistance from the county, despite being flat broke. So now we wait for either a surprise amount of money to come to us, or for his life insurance to come through. I just want to bring him home to me. I need him close by.

I put together the shadow box, with a few flowers and his and his sister's handprints. I need another one for his footprints. I put his hat in the shadowbox, because I needed to have it someplace safe. I kept clutching it to my heart. If I pressed hard enough, it felt like my heart was whole again.

I finally screamed in the basement. Collapsed across the dryer, my face in our comforter. I screamed. It felt good. I screamed until my lungs emptied and I felt a moment of peace. And then the world started to move again, and my life went back to feeling as bleak as ever.

I know that it's not. It's just the grief. It'll lighten someday, but the pain is still there. I wish there were a shortcut I could take to healing. But I don't think there's ever a healing in this. My baby is gone. Part of my soul is missing.

I made an appointment with my psychologist for Friday. I'm finally ready to see her. It'll be the first time since Henry left us.

I'm interested to hear what she has to say about my experience so far. I need advice from someone who has no interest in my family - I'm struggling so hard with that. I don't know what to say to her anymore. I don't know if I can forgive that.

I don't know if I can ever write what happened. My soul is missing, my heart is broken, and I am in pieces. This will all change once Jason brings Amelia home. My husband soothes my pain, and my daughter delights my spirit. They're my reason.