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The day after

charles-post

I remember waking up. Then dreading that I woke up and reality hitting me like ice water in the face.

My child is dead. I am the mother of child who killed himself. I actually feel as if I am in someone else’s skin because it feels so foreign and prickly. I just want to slide out of myself and into someone else’s life. Anything but the one I’m in right now.

Randy and I hold each other sobbing. The coulda, woulda, shoudas hitting us hard in the light of day.

How do I tell people my child is dead? How do I plan a funeral?

I need … Read more...

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