Now torpid, laying in a fetal position on her freshly tear-stained bed, her mind faintly wandering, thinking of the life her dear boy could have had, and all his plans for the future that are never to take fruition.
Could I have prevented this? Had he not gone to see that soccer game, would he still be here? These thoughts beginning to festering in her now barely conscious mind, once more bringing forth the tears she had been repressing in an attempt to regain her composure. She knew, eventually she would have to stop crying; that she would have to move on. However, she found it very difficult to see how she could move on from such a calamitous event as this. No matter how much she tried to regain her composure, she could not keep it for long as every little thing seemed to remind her of her darling boy.
One of life's cruelties, she thought to herself, every happy memory...every glimmer of hope turned into agonizing torment which lingers in those who were close to the lost...those left behind on the path to eternal peace.
She almost could catch the scent of that unambiguous aroma that her boy had when he came home from soccer. That aroma of cut grass and something musky, his favorite cologne wafting in the air of the spacious house, devoid of life save for herself. She normally would paid it no mind, but with all that had transpired, it was but another searing pain.
Her vision, obscured by tears, became wavering and hazy; her eyelids heavy with sorrow and grief. Things became dimmer and dimmer until she was plunged into the darkness, the succor of sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Forget Me Not for What I Was, But What I've Become
ParanormalAfter the loss of her 16 year old son, Tobin, his grief-stricken mother suffers a dire internal crisis which she must over come in order to move on.
