He looks around at the water, the sand, and the sky, and to the ground beneath his feet. He wants to go on but he finds so much trouble in finding himself and where he went wrong, that he can't go on. He's hung up on the past, what he could have done better, when in reality he couldn't have done any better. But he doesn't want to think like that. All he wants is to be happy and yet again here he is writing and crying his sorrows away. Right back to where he was before. Except this time he has nobody to listen to his tears and cries for help... and that.... is his true worry. It's almost been 1 year, since you left my life, without even being introduced to it.

I read those words, over and over again, time after time.

He didn't make it.

I still don't understand why this happened to me. I tried to stay home, but the feeling overwhelmed me. The feeling of sadness, grief, and despair trapped me in this state of mind. When I tried to cry out for help, there was no one there. When I tried to scream, no sound was made. I felt weak but I knew I had to be strong for her. I lost something yes, but she has lost something even worse. She has lost a blessing, a part of her, a child. Something no mother should have to go through she was put through. No words can explain my guilt for not being there for her in person. Not being there for her killed me, and as I looked up I saw a white mist appear in front of me, a face which I had never seen before. A ghost.

It was him.

It hit me that the face was the child, it almost felt like a movie. I realized something at that moment, that the child had not passed, the child had simply completed the mission that had been given to it. This upsets me and I starts to weep, but I remember she has it worse. I pick my phone and dial her number, to see how she is, if she needs anything, or anyone. I cry every night for a week after this tragedy occurred, stuck in a mindset that I can’t do anything. My love for this child was unattainable, yet it was not satisfactory enough I felt. I felt like I had failed her. However I dreamt, nobody wronged me, nobody has ever given me something I couldn’t handle, i've never doubted myself, yet I doubt the outcome.

Why?

Why couldn't my faith that it would be okay be enough?

Why couldn't he have just lived?

I felt like faith and belief was never satisfactory enough for anything.

As I look at my wall of memories, with a letter to my godson and a present for him in hand, I hang up the memories of what could have been. As I take one last look I think of her and pray that she finds peace in all of the madness.

The madness of death….