No Mother should have to bury a child

About 355 days a year, I am an optimistic, happy, witty person who likes to find the humor in everything, or most everything.  That changes from August 9-20 every year. 

On Aug 9, 1997, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.  I instantly called him my "Angel Man."  How ironic...three days later he was diagnosed with hypoplastic left heart syndrom and basically given the death sentence.  I had him taken off of life support, and through God's Grace (forgive me anyone who is not a Christian, but this is MY way of dealing with it)  He pinked up, and instead of dying instantly, he lived a few more days.  I was able to bring him home, and hold and love him.  In those days, I said hello, and goodbye.  (Not to mention the fact I had just buried my Grandmother on Aug 5 of that year!)

Caleb died in my arms at 10:20 PM on August 20th.  Yes, time eases the pain, for the most part, but here 11 years later, 2 days before the anniversary of his death, I find myself still crying.  I cried today because I read a story about a lost little whale in Australia that is probably going to die because he cannot eat, is exhausted, and trying to suckle from a yacht.  Yesterday, I cried because my little grand daughter felt bad and cried about something (trivial though it was)  I cried this morning because I can't find my muse to continue my Native American Articles I have been writing.

I hate crying.  Always have.  I'm the happy one, the witty one, the one everyone else comes to for uplifting.  I have 3 grown children, still living, 5 step kids and a host of step and natural grandkids whom I adore.  Not enough lately, I'm afraid.  Not even my new little Grandson can cheer me.

It goes against nature, it just isn't right.  I repeat...NO Mother should have to bury her child.

Thanks for reading...I just needed to let go of some of this