Unjust

 

 

I recently went to see an osteopath for my hip pain, and the first appointment was this week. I have had this pain since 2014, about a week before Madox was diagnosed. I have had MRI’s, X-ray’s, and bone scans. I have seen physiotherapist, chiropractors, and sports medicine. I have even tried yoga, which I have never been interested in. After being written off as “no anomalies to the structure of hip and surrounding tissue”, I have finally settled on it’s all in my head. No, I don’t mean I am making  it all up. I mean the trauma of Madox’s diagnosis and death has been buried deep within me and seemed to settle in my hip. A small injury at the time that would have healed easily if I had tended to it instead of putting all my thoughts and soul into Madox and his care. Now 4 years later, I am struggling with everyday tasks due to this chronic pain.

 

 

As I am standing in front of the osteopath, he tells me he sensed a lot of unjust coming from that hip. Unjust. I never thought of it that way. That word really just hit me like it was the first time realizing it. It’s so obvious. Yes I am angry, and have guilt and still so very sad. Yet I never thought of thinking ‘unjust’ that puts all those feelings together. No there is no fairness in a child suffering and dying a slow painful death. There is no reason for a child to die at a young age while I continue to live. He was healthy, happy, and active. WHY was he given such a short life while murders, pedophiles and just terrible people live a long life with people they love. Madox would have been amazing for the world, making a positive impact with others, but instead gets cancer.

 

 

For those who “can’t understand why” I am still sad and angry about Madox’s death, think about what I just said. Think about how as Madox was dying in bed next to us, everyone was living their lives like nothing important was happening. Think about how we buried our 9 year old son while you laugh with your child. Think about how in a few days we will be standing at our sons plot for his birthday, while you happily share a meal with the ones you love. There is no fairness in any of it. It should have been me. It should not have been Madox. Never should be a child. NEVER!

 

 

So yes I struggle some days. I struggle with my anger. I struggle with depression. I struggle with PTSD. I struggle trying to find an answer I will never get. I struggle with people making comments about me. I struggle with pretending to care. I struggle. Everyday is a struggle. Either we have learned to pretend a little better or you learned to pretend not to see it. We all struggle through life. Sometimes it can be debilitating and takes on different forms.