Life isn't fair

But what else is new?

My mother will never be as happy as she was when Tristan was alive. When I have my first child, we'll cry. We'll cry for happiness and we'll cry for sorrow. We'll celebrate life and acknowledge it's eventual evaporation. For what else can we do?

Here I sit in my room talking to Tristan's spirit. Telling him he is loved and never forgotten. Even in his death I send him positive energy. I tell him he is so loved. I tell him we would do anything for him. I tell him that even though he is gone, he is a part of our hearts and we will always love him.

Even though I find myself thinking, Tristan will never experience this. He'll never eat at a Benihana, I am almost glad he is gone. He would have grow up with two abusive parents that sheltered him from real love.

Months before, she asked us not to contact her and Tristan. She asked us to stop being in his life. At the time, that was too much. My mother and I cried on the phone when she told me. It wasn't fair of her to take him from us.

And now that we'll never see him again... That's too much for my soul to handle. I find myself crying, screaming. He would have turned three on February 27th. That makes me sick to my stomach. But when I go to the toilet, I can't be sick. All I can do is cough and drool, dry heave and cry.

I want to be sick. I want something to hurt so I can fix it. I want something to be physically wrong with me so that I can make it right, because I can't make my mind right. I can't stop the horrific images of what his last moments were like.

I can't stop the sorrow. I can't stop the pain and I can't stop him from being dead. I can only whisper to him. Send him all the positive energy I have. I can only remember him dancing, talking and yelling. Smiling and happy at Christmas time.

But Christmas will never be the same. Nothing will ever be the same.