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It seems my sadness echos forward through years, and I start too absorb it each time September ends. Perhaps this is a coping mechanism, shoving pain forward, unintentionally, through time, to be spread out among ten or twenty of me. So as not to break the one existing immediately after the loss.
I should have a six-year old in addition to a four-year old, but I don't. The four-year-old is amazing, and a large part of my world, because I am his world, and our worlds, when combined, make a wonderful place. But I can't forget the older half-sibling. December, January, the absence is unignorable.
Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad if i knew I'd be able to have another. Ideally I will, but.. life. I don't know that I'll be financially or mentally capable, never mind finding someone who wants to conceive and raise a child with me. Or at least donate some damn sperm. Especially since my recent experiences have made it extremely difficult to trust men, never mind love them. If I knew I'd have the opportunity? Maybe this would be easier.
Maybe not, though. The less I believe true romantic love, the wonder that keeps the stars apart, the more I doubt everything. I'll survive, I'll be alright, but things will forever be an aching hole (shhhh) or holes.