It’s 4 am, and I’m officially up for about the 6th time tonight.


Being sick is the absolute worst, and I forgot just how much worse a cold feels when you’re back in a less than warm environment. So, instead of laying in bed wishing I could fall back asleep, and that the fire in my throat would dissipate just a little, I figured I’d make this additional time useful and write.

Writing seems to be happening so few and far between these days, as you’ve probably noticed.

I’m not sure if it’s because this new role at work is more demanding of me than my last. Or if I write less because I feel less. Either way, I’m trying to make a conscious effort to do better.

Odd right, that I could feel less. Or not really odd, I suppose it’s actually normal. Or so I’ve been told. And it’s not that I feel less. I think the intensity behind it all has just started to ease a bit. I’m not entirely sure how long that will last with the holidays right around the corner, and Kamren’s 1st birthday quickly approaching. I really don’t even wanna begin to anticipate that, so I honestly just try not to.

I think that’s where my job becomes handy. It allows me to consume myself for a good 55-60 hours each week, making it almost impossible to dwell. Dwelling is still such a bad idea at this stage in the game.

Ironically though, there are moments that I feel such extreme guilt for not dwelling. Most people won’t understand that. After all, why would I want to dwell on something that literally and physically causes my chest to tighten and cracks every remaining piece of my heart back open.

But I don’t look at it that way. I can’t.

I dwell because those 16 days that I physically had my son in my arms, have literally got to last me a life time. Think about that. An entire lifetime. In 16 short but amazing days.

I don’t have the opportunity to forget any moment, any smell, any feeling. Anything really. Because I do not have the luxury of recreating them with him.

And the idea that I might forgot something, scares the living shit out of me.

It seems like the more time that moves forward without him, the more distant these memories become. That in and of itself has the ability to bring me to my knees. If there is nothing else on earth I want to remember, I need to remember, it’s everything about that little boy.

Nothing will ever be as good as him to me.

He is literally my heroin fix when the methadone stops working.

The drug that both keeps me alive, and teeters on taking my life in the exact same moment.

Scary huh?

Yeah, that’s a good word for it. Scary.

But yet and still, I’m not scared.

Not anymore.

I don’t think I have anything to be scared of at this point in my life. Even with all the hate that is happening in the world today. And I don’t want to come across insensitive, because Lord knows I’m not. But when you’ve laid your heard on my child’s belly while doctors fought to get him breathing again, and watched in disbelief as his heart stopped and yours kept beating, there isn’t really much else that seems scary.

Even Paris honestly.

And again, I don’t want to seem insensitive. What happened there is horrendous and disgusting. But at the same time, I don’t know that I would be sad if that had been me there and I lost my life. I’m okay with that. I’m good with that.

And let me preface this with saying that I am in no way, shape, form or fashion suicidal. Trust me, that ship sailed a long time ago. That would’ve happened January 8th of this year, if it were going to happen at all. But…actually just but. There isn’t a lot to follow that up with.

Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s so much left for me to contribute to this world while i’m here, I really do. But on the flip side of things, what honestly would be so bad for me to finally go home? I mean literally, home. Back to the place of pure and infinite love. The place where my son resides without me.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I embrace that side of life now, because I fully and firmly believe that there is more than life there. I know without a doubt, that the only thing there is love.

And I don’t know about all of you personally, but for me, that is the end goal.

Love is the goal.

Love is just everything.

And I mean, everything.

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