Sometimes I torture myself. I grab my phone and search through all of the pictures of Sawyer, the ones that I've taken of him, and the many selfies he's taken of himself (those are my favorite). I watch the slideshow that I made of him for his service. I listen to the Taylor Swift song of "Ronan." I sit in his room and hold onto his favorite blankie. I talk to his picture on the wall. I reread some of the earlier blog posts before we had completely lost him. I bring a blanket to the cemetery and sit and read him a story.

There are times when I don't do any of this because I don't want to hurt, and then times when it feels like I can't stop myself from doing these things. I've finally just come to the realization of why I do this to myself. When I'm hurting and can't get him off of my mind, that pain is enough. When things are okay in life, however, it doesn't feel right. I think I feel guilty that I'm not hurting, so I torture myself. I know I will end this cycle one of these days, but now for I think it actually works for me. I'm not ready to not hurt anymore. I keep reading all of these amazing stories of parents who have lost a child and how they are still faithful, how they are focusing on the positive things, and how they are still finding things to be thankful for. I look up to these parents. So many people have commented on our strength, but it doesn't feel like strength. It feels like survival, and I know that just surviving is strength in itself, but it's definitely different than the bravery of the individuals who are strong enough to stay positive in everything. I look for the hurt, because it's not fair to my baby. It's not fair that we are able to move on without him. And I know this sounds very ignorant to so many of you who have followed us through this journey, and I would protest this very thought if this happened to a close friend of mine. But it hasn't. It has happened to us, to my Sawyer, and it's not fair. Whenever Logan sees me crying on the computer, he makes no comments. He knows what I'm doing. I asked him just a bit ago if it bothers him when he sees me cry. He said, "No, I understand why. When Sawyer died I cried a lot. But I was too embarrassed to cry at that place. The church when we had his funeral." I asked him why he was embarrassed and he said, "Because there were too many people. People that I didn't know." This kid right here is my strength, my survival. I love him to the moon and back. I swear he speaks like an adult with a precious little boy voice and innocence.

Sawyer, one of these days, I will write to you without replaying the could haves, should haves, and wish I hads. I opened up this blog tonight after watching a video on Facebook about a woman named Kellie Haddock and her Thank You Project. She went back and thanked every single person who helped save her babies life, even though she lost her husband. I wanted to come on here and write positive thoughts, but as soon as I opened up this blog I began reading past posts. No positive thoughts came. So maybe next time.

I will say thank you to all of you who continue to follow our little family. Every time I open this up again to write something new I see how many more views this blog has gotten. We are so aware and thankful for all of the support that people still provide for us. I often feel selfish writing on here, constantly complaining of how sad and lost I am, but this has actually been a very helpful process. Writing allows me to get it all out. I can bawl without being embarrassed and whine without feeling guilty. So thank you all for allowing and supporting my process of venting.