There are dark places in the farthest corners of my mind. I try not to go there but my will is weak. The darkest of thoughts creep out from the corners and keep me forever in turmoil. I put on the most fake of smiles to greet the world. Nod, and smile and say it’s getting better. I wish I could let them see just how haunted I really am. Just let the demon side slip out now and again. The ugliest of thoughts, like who I would trade to have my son back again. The talks with the devil about trading my soul to have Zachary back on earth. The promises to God if only he would resurrect my son. I would walk across broken shards of glass bare-foot or have hot coals heaped upon my head. There is no limit to the physical pain I would take on to see my son in human form again. If witchcraft and evil would conjure him here, I would light a million candles and chant any spell. I would drink till drunk enough to see him and chat awhile even if only an illusion. In those dark corners, the pain overshadows logic and reason. In those dark corners, I would kill or maim. Dirty deeds are not beneath me if it meant seeing my son. The gaping hole in my heart seems never to run dry; like I have an endless blood supply. The tears that come and seem to stay too long; one would think it would dehydrate but it doesn’t. I am both perplexed and amazed at the human body’s tolerance for pain and grief. For it feels like a mother would surely die without her child. But I am living proof that a mother goes on even if only on the surface. A body can function when it feels dead inside. I know I am not the only one who misses him and is grieving but I can’t help them anymore than they can help me. Grief is so personal and individual. I can’t share it or explain it. Nor can I understand another’s. In grief, we stand alone and our independent will to survive is tested to the absolute limits. I have been told that I am pushing away everyone that loves me. That I am angry at the world and it shows. I am selfish in my grief. I don’t believe anyone loved him as much as I do. I don’t believe anyone is hurting as much or as deeply as I am. I am selfishly wallowing in my pain. I don’t know if it will get better or if I will just be this awful new version of me forever. And for the moment, I don’t even care. I have nothing to offer to others; so whatever they are expecting, they are sure to be disappointed. Maybe it is a choice and I am choosing to lay down in this misery or maybe I am insane. Maybe I have lost touch with reality. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I am just breathing in and out; counting down the minutes until I take the last breath and see my son again.