Some days I wonder how she does it – How she manages to get up every single day and fight for the lives of thousands of innocent victims. How she manages to work so hard without breaking down every second. The loss is obviously devastating, but beyond that, how does she find the strength to stand in front of hundreds of faces and ask them to hold on? How does she manage to inspire them to find the strength her daughter did not have?
In fact I wonder this every day, why does she just not let herself grieve and move on, instead of constantly hanging on to the memory of her battered abused child? Why doesn’t she just give up already?
Then I know. Worse. I remember.
You know this by now. I lost my son. Miscarriage. Held to my bed forced to stay silent while my child writhed and died inside of me. Forced to take pills and drink until I forgot, until it was nothing more than a memory. Forced to watch him laugh about it years later.
I know. She fights for the same reason I do, because if no one stands up, if no one says enough is enough, if everyone just sits back then the abuse will continue and more will die.
My son never had a chance to see this world, sometimes I am grateful for that, other times I feel like I could fly on anger alone.
My son sits on my shoulder, and smiles when I do well, and isn’t so happy when I mess up. Maybe I am crazy but I like to think that he is still with me, pushing me to carry on, watching me fight to inspire so many young people dying of the disease of fear.
For in essence that is what this angel died of – She took her life because she was terrified of facing yet another day of pain and suffering. Another day of abuse.
Her mother fights because there is no other choice. I am so proud to call you friend. Thank you for helping me to keep fighting, thank you for standing by me and reminding me that things do get better when I am ready to give up.