Waiting

Leo,
Today is one of the hardest days I’ve had. I woke up this morning and your dad was questioning himself all over again; “Was it my fault? Could I have been responsible for your death? Was it “overlay”? I know I wasn’t on top of the baby, but I doubt myself.“ God, that is so heartbreaking. It’s been almost 2 months since your beautiful soul left your sweet little body. Every single minute of every single day has been riddled with sadness, confusion, paralysis, and a lot fear. We have moments when we can bring ourselves to smile so that the rest of the world to have a little peace. Inside though, I’m broken. Sometimes my sleepless nights are replaced by nightmare-filled nights. What’s worse: no sleep at all or nightmares? I’d rather stay awake, I think.

I called the Medical Examiner’s Office today to check the status of your Autopsy. After 60 days, we are still waiting. After 60 days, we are still left with more questions than answers. I know that your Autopsy Report will probably only bring us more questions and no answers, however, we cannot begin to think about resting until this case has been closed.

The night you passed away, your dad and I were treated like cold-blooded murders. “It’s protocol; they were just doing their job.” I GET IT! But if another person tells me that, as if that would bring me peace somehow, I might kick them right in their shins. Do you want to know the truth? When the police man’s job intersects with my life, protocol can kiss my you know what. I am not a murderer, your dad is not a murderer, and for anyone to think that it is excusable to treat us that way because of “protocol” is sadly disconnected from compassion and empathy.

I’m back at work now, as you know, and I’m really struggling. People here are robots. They treat me like I didn’t just lose my son. They treat me like I’m just fine and like I’ve moved on in life. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How I’m supposed to spend the majority of my day, every day, in a workplace full of people who do not care about me.

Leo, I miss you immensely. My sweet baby son, I am so sorry you died. And if I could have done something differently, I so would have.

I pray that God can fill my brokenness with love, trust, and grace. God, please help me get through today with my hands lifted in faith to you. Amen.

I love you son.

Mom

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