(Warning: This post may cause tears to silently course a path down your cheeks.)

This post brought to you by the letter: H.

Heart.

My heart decided today’s post.

Now I know, I know we are in the Christmas season and it should be all about joy and happiness. But you have to realize (and maybe you do) that holidays make you remember , makes you think about the ones that are no longer here. Maybe next time I will be more jolly and happy with my post. But not here. Not not. Right now it is about…

Death.

Death.

Death.

No matter how you see it, it is a harsh word. No matter how many times you say it, it never gets any easier to say.  A word no one wants to think about. A word that some of us think about daily. A word that will visit us all at some point in our lives whether we want it to or not.

Death.

Death.

Death.

We have all experienced it in some way during our lifetime. I have had many people I know die.

But only 1,

1,

Made me fall to my knees.

Only 1 made me feel as if I could never catch my breathe.

Only 1 made me feel like my heart was going to crack wide open.

Only 1 made me feel as if all hope was lost.

Only 1 made me feel like giving up.

Here is the story of my relationship with Death. Why Death choose me, I will never know.

Six years ago, Death came knocking at my door, I had no idea who it was, as I have no peep hole in my front door. So I made the mistake of opening it. Death was standing there but he didn’t want me, he wanted someone a lot more precious and innocent. Someone I would have given my life to save. Someone who meant more to me then each breathe I take. I desperately tried to close the door in his face but Death slammed the door and me against the wall. He was not going to take NO for an answer. He was not going to listen to me as I cried and pleaded and begged for him to change his mind or to take me instead. He was determined to take what he had come for and there was nothing I could do to change his mind.

Six years ago, I opened that door and Death took my first born son. My 12 day old baby. My Drake. Death did not care that Drake was a full term baby. Death did not care that while Drake was inside of me that he was perfectly healthy. Death did not care what this loss would do to me. Death did not care about anything other than collecting my son and leaving with him. Death did not care that the reason my son was in this predicament was due to injuries my son sustained during delivery.

The only thing that Death allowed me out of all this, since he would not allow me the life of my son, was to allow my son to take his last breathes in my arms knowing he was loved. Death gave me no more and no less.

I hate Death. Death cheated me out of my son’s lifetime with me, seeing him grow and learn, go to school, get married, have kids of his own.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Drake and what may have been. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss Drake and wish he was here. Not a day goes by that I don’t love Drake. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish he was here with me, but Death ripped him out of our lives faster than a breathe of air. Drake’s air. Drake’s breathe.

I will forever have a hate relationship with Death. I hate what Death has done to me. I hate the emotional wreck I can become at the drop of a whisper. I hate that those around me who don’t know what Death has done to me, do not know that I am a mother to 3 boys, not just the 2 they see. I hate that Death has changed me by taking my son. I hate that Death has caused me to cause pain in the lives of my other two sons, as I tell them about their older brother they will never get to meet. They will never get to know. They will never get to play with. They will never…..

Because of Death, I will always wonder if I am doing right by Drake. Am I thinking about him enough? Do I love him enough? Do I miss him enough? Am I teaching my other children enough about him? But at the same time, I have to walk a very fine line because of Death. I have to make sure that I show my living children that they mean as much to me as Drake. I have to constantly worry that I will do something wrong. There is no manual on child raising and there is most definitely NO manual on what to do when you lose a child.

To this day, Death has made me afraid to say.

“My son has died.”

“My son is dead.”

Even as I write those words, my insides are all twisted. It is hard to say. Six years later, it is easier to just say the words “passed away”.

Death/ dead/ died – they are too permanent. Yes, I know that is the case but it does not mean it is any easier to say those words. Death has made me afraid of those words. Not what they mean but what they can do. They can take someone most precious away from you.

So as the Christmas holiday continues to get closer and closer, take a moment to remember those gone too soon, because we all wish there was someone we could have saved. I know someone I would have given anything to save.

Thank you,

Marisa

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