Another year, 4 in total, without my boy.
I have no idea at all how I have managed to get through each and every day since he died. I keep being told how strong, inspirational and amazing I am. Although I am flattered, I truly don't feel that way. I feel anything but and especially, I don't feel strong.
I've cried pretty much since Sunday. Tears spilling over as we visited on Sunday, cleaning them up, making them look handsome for today. Sunday marked 4 years since he was checked in the cardiac clinic - the one place where they surely would have found something wrong with him.
I muddled through yesterday, finding heavy eyelids and glancing at the clock to find its 11.30pm. Husband said: "are you staying up til midnight?" - I wasn't intentionally but I might as well.
Then it came. Midnight. Here I was. 4 years on. I cried. I felt the weight be lifted, the same weight I have been carrying for the last month. I felt the knot in my stomach loosen.
It's been a tough day, up and down, but we have gotten through it.
Again.
