I could write a book. Or perhaps two now. I suppose they don’t understand because they haven’t walked in my shoes. I suppose they can’t know because their child is still with them. I suppose I don’t care.

I’m not sure which is worse, the people that ask me if I’m ok, or the people that just ignore the fact that I had a son and pretend like all is well with the world. Probably the latter. At least the people that ask me if I’m ok (about the half the time) are actually expecting an honest answer. Not that there is one that I can give.

The ones that ‘pretend’ that nothing’s changed, well I’m tired of you. I’m tired of pasting a smile on my face so that you can go on feeling comfortable with the situation. It makes my skin crawl, it makes my pulse quicken and my head feel like it’s full of buzzing bees. How dare you sit there and smile and expect me to be ‘ok’ because you cannot handle the alternative!

I can’t stand the look of pity, pure, unadulterated sadness that some people give me. I cannot be around you. Please do not feel bad for me. I already feel bad enough.

I just ask for understanding. I just want to honor his memory. Please do not force me to pretend.