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A boy with a golden heart

We never talk about it. My husband wants to talk about it but we never talked about it because he knows I don’t want to talk about it. I cannot look at a car’s front right now, because that was the last thing I remember. And it was a blackout. When I woke up, my eldest son is nowhere to be seen anymore. I don’t want to talk about it, because when you talk about it, you start healing. When you start to talk about it, you start finding a door to the solution. But I, at least now, do not want to admit and recognize. I always pretend he is still there. I know he’s still somewhere, somewhere in the world. In the car, I will not put my bag besides. I will leave the middle seat free because that’s where he used to sit. In the restaurant, we will order three pieces of bread and we eat three. The last one is supposed to be his. I am a resilient person, always had been. I have been through all of these, my mom’s death, my dad’s heart transplantation, youngest son three surgeries, and I all came through it. But this.. this is just too painful. I tried really hard really hard really hard. He was a boy with a golden heart. I never wanted to admit it, because I don’t want to say he “was”. Never.

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