Sunday afternoon blues. No plans no responsibilities, only time to reflect. Beau cried like his heart was broken when he had to leave with Mama. He has a lot of fun out here. I know he’ll be better in two minutes, but it’s still hard.

The back of my car holds boxes I picked up from my house. I couldn’t get them out while Beau was here. Ben papers, toys Ben had when he was just a baby. Photographs, blankets, stuffed animals. Who will care about any of that now? I feel like creating a shrine of all his cards and letters, pictures, toys and trophies. Who will admire the shrine? Only me. Other people will squirm uncomfortably and think I’m not healthy in my grieving. How can they ever know what this feels like.

My world would be so much better if each person in it could feel like I do for a single hour.

I cannot find the words to express my day to day existence. Sipping a cup of coffee one minute and sobbing the next. No trigger, just the pressure in my chest of 27 years of love with nowhere to go. The panic need to see him right now.

Endless days. Where is he? I mean like really… where is he? He’s not in Heaven yet, that won’t happen until the second coming. So is he in a great sleep? Does he dream? Does he see green grass and sky and bright flowers like the near death experience survivors say? Can he see me? I hope not. He wouldn’t be proud of me right now. I’m failing grief.