| Current mood: | blah |
| Current music: | Ragnarok..boosit. |
Dear Son,
It used to be that a day exactly a year ago, I was alone. It used to be that a day exactly a year ago, I thought I would not be capable of the same idealism I have been known for for years. It used to be then that each day was a struggle, a fight, to move on and not look back, and stay strong, even perhaps, if it is close to impossible, just appear strong. It used to be a day to day routing wake-up call, a reminder that I need to brave up a front, smile and stay numb. Each day was a conscious struggle to not to breakdown and cry, a conscious effort to remain strong and choose not to cry. Not when this innocent little man is depending on you, breath after breath, smile after smile.
My son,
A year on hell was made bearable just because everytime I look at you or feel you cuddled in my arms, I am reminded, that there is a heaven.
Tell me who would not want to stay strong with this smaile.
Tell me who would not want to brave the storm and try to be hopeful.
Tell me who would not want to sacrfice anything and everything.
My son,
Everything I will be doing, and are doing, is for you.
Love,
Mommy
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