September 14th Saturday.

15 weeks ago today, my son walked out of the house and travelled to Liverpool to go to a rave. That was the last I saw of my son until I saw him in the Chapel Of Rest. 

Seeing him in the Chapel Of Rest will haunt me until I die. Seeing my first born child, my son, dead in a coffin, that image will never leave me. I know that for certain.

15 weeks of hanging on by a thread.

15 weeks of tears and heartache. 

15 weeks without my child.

I think of him every minute of every day.

Honestly, grief  consumes every part of your body.

I'm not sure how I'm still functioning.

The world is passing me by and I'm stuck in grief.

I know I'm having a bad day and I know this will pass. I have to appreciate the good days I have because they don't last long.

My brother came to visit last night and I found myself actually enjoying his conversations, I even laughed a few times and then today I'm filled with sadness about laughing. I know it's normal to feel this way but it doesn't make it any easier.

I looked at myself earlier and didn't even recognise the person looking back at me.

I've gained that much weight with the Menopause and medication it's unreal, so I'm determined to stick to my diet and the gym. But besides the weight gain, I looked at myself and felt sad. The outgoing bubbly girl had gone. I looked into my eyes and I saw a blank space. Does that make sense, I look dead behind the eyes. I've lost my identity. I've lost me.

They say there's a life before the death of a child, and a new life begins after. That is so true. I can never go back to who I was, but who was I? I lost my identity after the death of my father, now, now I'm really lost.

But we're going to find Ann-Louise.

Im going to get better!