This book I'm writing is taking a toll on me. Reliving those first months after TJ's death brings back so much confusion and pain. Recalling the morning that he died, seeing it in my minds eye, makes me drop my head into my hands and wail. It sucks the air from my chest and breaks my heart into a million pieces. Revisiting those memories will probably do that for the rest of my life. Time heals, but I can never forget. I don't want to forget. He was in so much pain, felt so much fear. I could do nothing but try to talk to him, coo at him, rub his back and whisper to him. Tell him that I love him, reassure him that they were coming to help him.
I would do anything, anything, to take away the panic he felt. The pain of drowning amongst a sea of air. He was so scared, and I just had to watch. Helpless. It's the worst experience in the entire world.