Five years ago, yesterday, my family endured a trauma. One of our babies (my great nephew, specifically) was taken from us. He was five months old. The funeral was beyond hard. My niece had lost her son. And the man that took him from her was her then husband, and the father of the baby. To endure the loss of a child is horrible. To endure the murder of a child is unimaginable until you see someone you love going through it.
Five years on, I don't relive every moment of the week that followed. I remember flashes. Moments in time where I have these GIFs in my head. One of my niece bawling in her car, completely inconsolable at the cemetery. The moment my sister told us that 'he killed the baby.' My sister's hands shaking while she holds a cigarette to her mouth and inhales. Reaching out and brushing Michael's hair with my left hand as I held Oz on my other hip - little blonde tufts of hair and cold baby soft skin. Nursing Oz in a private room while listening to the service over a speaker.
I see and remember sights and smells. Mostly, I relive the feelings I had in those days. Anger, grief, sadness, anxiety, sleeplessness, more anger. All of 2009 and part of 2010, I felt these feelings all the time. I was in a dark place. I don't live in that moment all the time now, but for a few days in March, I allow myself a little time to be angry again and to feel the grief, anxiety, and sadness. I don't see them as negative feelings, they are cathartic. They are a tribute to Michael's memory - I will never forget his life or his death.
They say that time heals all wounds. But even healed wounds will leave scars. Sometimes embracing the scars is part of healing one's soul.
