There is no point and I wish I was brave enough to end it all. But I am a coward. I have lost everything in my life, my mother when I was 19, my dad when I was 23 and my son in December 2010. I no longer have any contact with my family as they are worthless. If I knew that by ending it all, I would be reunited with my son and things would be as they were before, I would do it straightaway. But I know that wouldn't happen. He is either in his next life, or nowhere, though his ashes remain in two caskets with me.
Unless you have lost a child, you cannot understand the terrible pain, the endless sadness, the feeling of utter hopelessness and, worst of all, knowing you will never see him again, his smiling face, his laugh, his idiosyncratic Thai-English. Never again will I hear anyone call me "Daddy".
Even after more than 18 months, I still cry practically every day, and I know this will never change. And then when I don't cry, I feel guilty for not crying and so start crying again. The only peace I get is when I am asleep - if I can get any sleep and if I am not having any nightmares - and then there is that split second when you wake up, a split second of normality before you remember he has gone.
I don't want to see counsellors or therapists, psychiatrists or psychologists, I just want my son back. And so this living hell goes on and on.
Son, I miss you so much, as you always said I would.
