Rare Raspberry #7
He should never have been there in the first place. He should have been snuggled into our bed, squeezed between me and my husband, breathing softly on the back of my neck. He always had nightmares, he hated sleeping alone.
It’s that damn Dr. Laura, the one who knows it all. Julie heard her say it was unhealthy for 6 ½ year olds to still be sleeping with their parents and Julie told Cindy, who told Grandma who informed my husband that we were going to be raising a sick and twisted child if we didn’t stop it quick. There you have it, one scared sobbing little boy locked out of my bedroom.
As a mother the grief of loosing a child is too much handle. The I should have’s and I could have’s consumed my life, leaving me a shell of the woman I once was. After that night I couldn’t put myself back together. Eventually my husband left me. I don’t blame him; I would have left me too.
That night the fire started in the kitchen and burnt through the hallway and up the stairs. By the time we woke up the flames had filled the entire stairwell. There was no way to reach the nursery or that blasted single trundle bed.
Firemen came, but it was too late. At that point nothing could be done but contain the fire and let it burn.
For years I was angry. At Dr. Laura, at my husband, God, myself, the list went on. This should have never happened I screamed, “You knew he hated to sleep alone!” Nowadays my anger has melted, I don’t blame anyone mostly I just feel hallow.
Sometimes at night when I’m in bed I roll to my side and imagine my little boy snoring softly. My bed has been oh so empty for years, but sometimes I can still feel him there. It’s like I can see the dent in the pillow his little blonde head would make, and I smile. My angle is in bed with, right where he belongs.
It’s that damn Dr. Laura, the one who knows it all. Julie heard her say it was unhealthy for 6 ½ year olds to still be sleeping with their parents and Julie told Cindy, who told Grandma who informed my husband that we were going to be raising a sick and twisted child if we didn’t stop it quick. There you have it, one scared sobbing little boy locked out of my bedroom.
As a mother the grief of loosing a child is too much handle. The I should have’s and I could have’s consumed my life, leaving me a shell of the woman I once was. After that night I couldn’t put myself back together. Eventually my husband left me. I don’t blame him; I would have left me too.
That night the fire started in the kitchen and burnt through the hallway and up the stairs. By the time we woke up the flames had filled the entire stairwell. There was no way to reach the nursery or that blasted single trundle bed.
Firemen came, but it was too late. At that point nothing could be done but contain the fire and let it burn.
For years I was angry. At Dr. Laura, at my husband, God, myself, the list went on. This should have never happened I screamed, “You knew he hated to sleep alone!” Nowadays my anger has melted, I don’t blame anyone mostly I just feel hallow.
Sometimes at night when I’m in bed I roll to my side and imagine my little boy snoring softly. My bed has been oh so empty for years, but sometimes I can still feel him there. It’s like I can see the dent in the pillow his little blonde head would make, and I smile. My angle is in bed with, right where he belongs.
posted by Anonymous at 6:51 PM
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