Rage

Today, I'm filled with rage. I'm angry that my son is dead. I'm angry that he isn't here beside me coated with sweat in humidity so dense you can touch it, with his curly hair standing around his head like a halo. I'm angry that his brother plays alone in his kiddie pool. I'm angry that my husband is too afraid of allowing our son around open water to go to the beach with us. I'm angry that pictures of Canaan make me cry. I'm angry that his beautiful, perfect life is over and my ugly one is still going. There is no good reason for the loss of a child; there is no full healing. Time doesn't heal all wounds. It dulls them a bit. I am filled with regret that our lives are like something that has been broken and put back together again-we're functional again but will never be quite whole.