I sit here night after night trying to remember what the boys felt like. I hold on to their hospital blankets and bring them to my noise to smell them, but all I smell is that horrible hospital smell. I want to smell them...to smell a baby, to smell life but all I smell is death. I look through their photos and try to examine them ever so closely so that I can see all the little details that I missed while they were alive. The lines of their feet, the folds of their ears, the details of their hands and the smiles on their faces. How I wish i could do it all over, to have another day, another hour, another minute... So, I paint or draw to the point of where I almost feel manic. I just have to do it at that instances and it has to be finished immediately so that I can purge myself of the anger and sadness.
It has been 6 months since I laid in my hospital room, numb from the death of not one but both of my sons. I laid there and said nothing.... It has been 6 months and once again, what more is there really for me to say... nothing.