Today was messy.
Six months ago tonight, at about this time, I knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. No one seemed as convinced as I was but I knew my instinct wasn’t wrong. My heart knew. My gut knew.
This picture was taken less than 24 hours before your last breath. And it would be a long, sleepless night and a long next day of losing hope a little at a time before what I already knew was confirmed.
Through the relentless tears and swollen eyes of today, I feel something I haven’t yet felt much during this grieving process. Anger. I’m feeling a little angry. Not at you. At the situation. That people weren’t hearing my concerns. That they were brushing it off and you’d turn up somewhere. That no one could hear me when I said “I don’t think he’s ok.”
And it doesn’t even matter. It was already too late.
I’m angry at myself. For not being more aware. More in tune. Why didn’t I pick it up? Why didn’t I see it coming? Why was I so convinced you were doing so much better? Why couldn’t I see it? Looking back, I knew you were struggling with certain things but you were still in a much better place than you had been, or so I thought.
I will forever be sorry I didn’t see more, do better and save my freaking boy. I hate that you’re gone. I hate that I have to live life without you. I hate that I couldn’t help you. I hate that you struggled and that you hurt and that I couldn’t make it better.
I’m sorry. I love you, Teagan. Always and forever.
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