I have been noticing lately that somehow, in my way of getting through every-day life, I am feeling strangely detached from Patrick's dying.
I know it happened. But yet it seems pushed to the back of my mind.
Maybe you could say I feel like an onlooker rather than someone stuck in the middle of all of this. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, the knowledge is there.
Memories are becoming, at times, unbearably painful - but mainly only if they pop into my head when I am alone. Surrounded by people, I feel myself able to reminisce and speak about him in a natural sort of a way.
I am avoiding looking at his pictures and the memory of the day he died seems too much to take in. Knowing we will never be able to hold and hug him and see him grow up just takes my breath away.
I don't want to be here, in this position. But I guess, I am not given a choice in the matter.