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Every month on the 13th, I take a moment to reflect. If I can’t spend the day alone, I usually find a quiet area to just decompress and reflect: where I have been, where I am, where I am going.
Ethan was born on December 13, 2011. That date is permanently tattooed on my brain.
It’s been 17 months since he went to Heaven and I’ve thought about Ethan more during these past 13 weeks than I have probably within the past six months. Not that I don’t think about him all the time, because I do. But it’s hard not to think about what could’ve been and what currently is.
I’m a successful writer. Would I be if Ethan was born? Would I have been able to churn out as many books as I did last year with a newborn? Maks and I have a lot of money saved up to buy a house. Would we still have that savings if Ethan was here?
There are so many unanswered questions and there will continue to be unanswered questions. I simply won’t ever know. I don’t dwell on them; it is what is. But every so often, on the thirteenth of every month, I do wonder, what could’ve been?
The hardest and worst thing I ever had to do was bury my son. I would never get over this death. I will just learn how to live with it. Some days are easier. Some days, like today, are filled with tears. I just have to keep on. I promised my son that I would only do things to make him proud of me and I vow to do just that.
