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...