Today, I had another counselling session. This one went much better than the first. Yes, I cried. Yes, I confused myself. Yes, I admitted to my feelings of guilt, hurt and disbelief. I told the counsellor about the “little” things that are upsetting me the most. For example, this morning I got up after having a rough night and I went to have a shower. The door leading into the hallway banged closed behind me. I looked at Barry’s bedroom door, concerned that I might wake him up. Then I realised that I don’t have to worry about things like that, because he’s not there. Can you imagine how upsetting that was for me?

Barry’s room is just a shell. Daniel, Gary and I have all agreed that we can’t feel Barry’s presence in that room. It feels cold (extremely cold) and empty. This is upsetting to me as well. However, part of me acknowledges that Barry did what he wanted to do, so why would he stick around afterwards. Doing so wouldn’t make sense. Today, Gary bought some yellow and white flowers to place beside Barry’s bed. It puts some “life” back into the room. Doesn’t that sound horrible? Can you imagine how that makes us feel?

I told the counsellor that even though it makes no difference, and will change nothing, I still need to know the details. I go and stand in Barry’s room and ask him questions. Naturally, I don’t get the answers, which is frustrating. I’ll never get the answers, because only Barry knows the whys and whens, and he can’t tell me. Can you imagine how tormenting that is for me?

Last night, I looked through a photo album filled with Barry’s baby photos – up to the age of about four. I looked at that smiling face, clinging hold of me in all different locations. We were always together. I peered at the faces of my two little boys sitting together, playing in swimming pools, jumping on trampolines, ready for the beach, in tents, snow boarding, bike riding, playing with the dogs, fishing, opening birthday presents, at Christmas, giving kisses, at the zoo, in the park, at preschool, colouring in, playing games, making things and the list goes on and on. Can you imagine how cheated I feel knowing that there will be no more photos documenting their journey together?

Can you imagine what it’s like to lose a child…of any age? Unless you’ve been in my shoes, you can’t know, but I’ll tell you. I feel cheated and ripped off. I feel wronged, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.