Grace

It's been a bit.

It's like I've had some sort of block.

There is so much to say, I just don't know where to start.

Well it's July. The 20th. It's been 81 days. It shouldn't hurt anymore should it.

I don't know if it's still meant to hurt. Every little thing triggers a memory, a feeling, everything I see is something that you will never get to see or experience. And I guess that it's just still really unfair. It's just not fair. None of this is fair.

I guess knowing the truth just makes it all sink in.

Acute alcohol intoxication and poisoning. Pulmonary congestion. Oedema of the lungs. Terminal aspiration. Visceral and Cerebral congestion.

I don't think I wanted to know. It makes it so much more fresh.

I wake up every morning and I have the same thought when I look at the roof. What if. What if What if What if What if What if What if What if.

THe what if's are stupid. They are what is tearing me apart inside. They are the pain. Because if every single what if was true he would be alive.

It's not hard to save somebody.

He wasn't at the point of no return. He was at the point of return. with help.

But no one wanted to help him.

What sort of person sees a dying boy and doesn't want to help him.

What sort of person wants to hide a dying boy.

What sort of person wants to kill them.

It was at the front gates.

I was waiting for him to drop something off.

But it never came.

He came but the parcel was so much worse.

It's not easily forgotten. How you're told. And it haunts me every night.

No matter how hard I try to let it go. It comes back. It keeps on coming back. I tell it to go away. I tell it to leave me alone. But the more you try to forget a memory the more it pesters. The more it wants to stay.

I'm leaving it all inside myself. No one can see how much I'm burnt. To my core. No one is allowed to see it. I don't want anyone to ever feel this hurt. It's not fair and no matter how much I hate, I would never wish this on anyone.

What about all those wars, where so many people died. How can my hurt possibly relate to a hurt that large. A whole country's hurt.

Maybe more than just me hurt this time, the cards in the thousands, tens of thousands.

But still it doesn't compare.

Nothing is ever fair.

I don't think it's fair that I'm allowed to hurt when there are people out there who have the right to hurt so much more than me.

So I promised myself to try.

To try and dim this.

But it's really hard.

Your insides melt to nothing and your brain burns from holding it all in.

They tell me that I'm going to get over it so much faster than them. Just because he was their kid. Because it's totally different. Our relationship was totally different.

I told him things I never told anyone else. He seemed to be the only person I could ever trust in this place they call the world. This is going to take a long time to get over. And all the problems that come with it.

The never ending problems. That I want to disappear. Why can't life be almost as simple as before. When all this would have been a nightmare. My worst nightmare.

It's like living in this colourful nightmare, everything is still up around you, carrying on, but you are in black and white and are falling through the floor.

Everyone comes and goes for a reason right. Everyone leaves their mark. Everyone has to mean something to somebody. There is a reason for this. There has to be. Why would it happen. It's the wait that's hurting too. The waiting for the cure. The cure to this pain. It's how you deal with it on your own that will be your medicine. You have to go through it and through it in your head. Over and over again.

Eventually you forget the sound of his voice.

Eventually you go crazy from talking to him in your head.

You kill yourself for not believing.

Even in the back of my mind I want to believe he's playing this crazy joke.

To help me grow.

That he's really gone into hiding for a bit, he's going to come out later.

He wouldn't let himself die if he knew I was still here.

He wouldn't.

But it's really hard to hold onto hope when you stumble across pictures of his open coffin, when you see the drained skin, whiter than ice, when you see white lips, where blood no longer flows. When you see the purple tips of the ears, and you can visibly see the glue that is holding shut his eyelids because, really, there are no eyes under there, his corneas are being given to someone else.

You know it is really the end when you see a silver coffin with a gorgeous blonde boy inside dressed in his whites like a statue. You know it is the end when you touch his hand and feel ice.

You know it is the end when he never talks back.

You know it is the end when everything is put away.

When all the photos have tear stains.

When family isn't a word in vocabulary.

When his name hardly ever rolls off your tongue.

When every thought you have is of him.

When you have to try just to be yourself.

When he becomes a 3kg box of dust.

When he is dead you know it is the end.

Everything is sparse and inbetween.

I rang him up to say happy mothers day. But he was dead.

I guess happy mothers day is no longer happy.

So how well did he run the race? What place did he come?

Who knows, he never got there.

'I'm on my knees
only memories
are left for me to hold

Dont know how
but Ill get by
Slowly pull myself together

Theres no escape
So keep me safe
This feels so unreal

Nothing comes easily
Fill this empty space
Nothing is like it seems
Turn my grief to grace

I feel the cold
Loneliness unfold
Like from another world

Come what may
I wont fade away
But I know I might change

Nothing comes easily
Fill this empty space
Nothing is like it was
Turn my grief to grace

Nothing comes easily
Where do I begin?
Nothing can bring me peace
Ive lost everything
I just want to feel your embrace'