Breathing Soon - I hope

I have sat here for about five minutes wondering what it is I am supposed to write about. Just beginning this blog for my son has been a four month process. Quite frankly I don't know what I'm doing here. I just figured I'd write and hope that something spilled onto the page. My mind is racing. My heart is flat. Flat from the constant pounding I give it everyday turning from thoughts of my dead boy. I miss you so much Branson. I have wanted to hold your head in my hands again and give you just one more bath. Branson, I have felt you near me - tugging on my arm - trying to get me to do better, to be better. Life becomes stagnant and disappointing when I think about you. This tears at my insides and gives my heart another beating mostly because I should have happy thoughts when I think of you - right? I feel it is all my fault and only you know why. I have felt like I needed to be the strong one always and protect your mom from the crying eyes and mostly from the wondering stares that people undoubtedly throw our way. In my mind I thought that by playing strong and displaying an unyielding shield of a testimony that people would ease up and forget about your mom and I and go on with life so we could go on with ours undetected...un searched. I'm finding this front of cheery conversation to be a type of sponge, mopping up the anger left on the floor of the mortuary. I can't run from my anger any longer. I can't stand up and smile anymore. I hope people understand. But that's just it - I know they can't - how can they? There is a pain here that is best described as grief but even that pails in the face of what it really is. What is it? Even I don't know and I feel it ... indeed, I feel it everyday. This is now an outlet (so they tell me). I'm willing to swing at. I'll try anything. And its time, its past time I did something to help me feel better. In looking back and reading what I have just wrote its words do in fact take on the image of a fire hydrant ready to burst. Little droplets leaking out and rolling to the ground. Then taunt streams of liquid reaching for a pinnacle until finally the water takes form and follows pattern leaving the hunk of metal stopper wet, face down in the dirt. That is how I hope to leave my anger and frustration of this whole matter - face down in the dirt so I can finally breathe.