8 Whole Months...

April 4, 2013. Eight months to the day. I still can't decide if it's been forever or merely a moment.  Time hasn't held much meaning since the accident. I barely know what day of the week it is anymore. But the 3rd and 4th of every month seem to find a way to make themselves known. It's like a funk that I just can't quite shake. The ever present depression and black hole are bigger and stronger than normal. I sleep even worse than usual, and I wake up feeling lost. 
Zach was born on a 4th, and he passed on one as well. He also graduated from high school on a 4th. Which wouldn't seem like that big of a deal, except that it was his first major life moment, and as it turned out... also his last. He never had the chance to start college. He never got engaged, married or had kids. His entire life was wrapped up into 18 short years. It isn't fair. I try not to get angry. I try to be thankful that we had him in our lives at all. I try to remind myself that he made a bigger impact in 18 short years than most people do in a lifetime. But then I get even more angry. I think "Imagine what he could have done with another 18 years. Or 30, or 50." 
Why him? I hear people say "It must have been his time." and I think "Is that true?" Do we come with expiration dates? Is there an invisible countdown somewhere that is ticking off the hours and seconds of our lives? If this idea is supposed to make me somehow feel better, it doesn't. Why do some people get so little time while others get so much? Why are killers and rapists allowed to live while innocent children are taken? Is this truly God's will? If so, how does anyone have any faith? I don't. I refuse to believe in any God who allows evil to continue and innocence to die. It gives me no comfort. 
Eight months ago, a single moment changed the course of our lives forever. The path that we were headed down, suddenly became a dead end. I don't know where the road leads now. I'm not even sure there IS a road. Sometimes it feels more like we are stumbling blindly through a forest, with no clear trail. Each step just takes us further away from him. From our son. From the family that we once knew. Sometimes I want to just stand still, and make time stop. I'm afraid as time passes and we continue on, I will forget things. The sound of his voice, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed. The feel of his arms around me in a hug. I'm afraid the memories that seem so clear now will start to fade. I cannot make new ones. These ones I have, are all I will ever have. They are precious and fragile. Time changes things. I now live in fear that time will take these from me, too. When 8 months becomes 8 years, will I still be able to hear his laugh in my mind? Will I still remember each line of his face? The smell of his hair? 
It's been 8 whole months... and my son is never coming back. 

                                              My little family. It will never be the same.