Happy birthday, Gabriel.

I know that it's really kind of futile. But in a strange way I feel like if I don't remember for others, he won't be remembered at all. Today would have been his third birthday and it's still so new to me but things have also changed quite a bit: my siblings have kids too, now, ones that are still living so...I'm not sure what I'm trying to say except that maybe I wish things had been different.

But how different? If he were still with us, he'd be a slave to his mobile ventilator, and he wasn't expected to live past kindergarten, anyway. If he'd been born healthy, would I still be here? I try to just accept things as they've happened but at the same time, it would have been nice to be preparing a birthday party right now instead of sitting up this late thinking about something that will never change. I just wish I still didn't feel at fault. The perinatologist who met with me several times and diagnosed some of my blood disorders after that difficult pregnancy told me that I'd done nothing wrong, even that staying in Europe likely helped Gabriel survive as long as he did, and that it was a hereditary thing that I simply couldn't control...especially since I didn't even know I had blood disorders at the time.

Family and friends have told me that God sent Gabriel to me in a sacrificial sense, that he was meant to die so that my blood disorders could be diagnosed; believe it or not, he death got the doctors thinking on the same page so I can see why people think that. However I'm not sure I can accept that as 100% true. Even though the specialists say Gabriel died without any pain (and I just keep holding onto that no matter what logic tells me) I don't understand how it could be his Fate from conception to die so early. It's cruel, and it's unfair.

What would have been his 1st birthday, I skipped work and school and wept violently most of the day. Last year, I had the day off from both work and school. Today, I have to go in. Firstly, because we're unusually busy. And secondly, because I can't see my contractor accepting this as a decent reason for calling in. I can hear them thinking, "Yeah, it's sad...your son died...but it's been awhile, hasn't it? Like a few years?" True. It has been awhile. It just still gets to me. I wonder if it's going to always be like this, or if it gets better, or if I'm overreacting. I mean, it's gotten better to a point but not where I feel okay. I had a 2nd year instructor (who, by the way, literally saved my life that year) who lost both his parents to a drunk driver during his apprenticeship. I asked him how long it took to get over it. He said it took 5 years for him to be okay, where the anniversary didn't set him off or where things triggered him. So, if he's the norm, I guess I have 2 more years to go.

Sigh...you know what really sucks about this? The entire post feels devoid of emotion. Like I don't care. I swear it's not like that. I'm just going to quit writing before I get to acting idiotic.