One Month

It's been a month.
A month.
And I've come to the conclusion that her death was totally, and entirely my fault.
I could've done more and I simply didn't.
I could've checked up on her more often, I could've called every day, I could've visited more, I could've tricked her into going to the doctor.  I could've just done more.
It's absolutely my fault and there's no one in this world who can change my mind.

The sudden loss of a parent is absolutely awful.
That's not to say, that knowing your loved one is going to die is any better.
But thinking that this person is okay and will last you a very long time, only to be completely wrong about it, simply isn't easy.

It comes with tons of sadness, tons of guilt, tons of regrets.

It's been a month since she's passed and all I can think about is all of the "what if's" she left behind.
What if I had been more attentive...
What if I had forced her to go to the hospital after she had a migraine that lasted her over a week...
What if I had visited more...
What if I had called her husband to let him know how stubborn she was being...

And then the "why's"...

Why didn't I take it more seriously? Why didn't she?
Why didn't she tell us she wasn't feeling well?
Why didn't she notice her symptoms weren't normal?
Why didn't I visit more often?
Why? Why? Why?

The guilt is incredible.
I've spent the entire month blaming myself for her death.
Because there's a large part of me that knows I could've done more.
And I allowed myself not to.
What does that say about me?

How could I have failed someone who never ever failed me?

I'll tell you what... it's simply not easy. 

The one person I could trust with my life and rely upon for anything, clearly, couldn't rely on me at all.
Because I should've done more.

And that's simply what I'll have to live with for whatever is left of my time here.




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