I can’t make sense of this. This is the worst kind of pain I have ever felt. I lost my son. I lost my baby. It’s soul crushing and numbing. I feel like my heart and guts are splattered on a hot black piece of pavement. I’m trying to work with the darkness and the bad thoughts. I’ve screamed so much my throat is raw. I’ve tried to wake up from this nightmare. I’ve laid in his crib. I’ve cried so many tears my eyes won’t open. Nothing takes it away. Nothing changes it. Nothing will bring him back.

I’ve never wanted anything, not one possession. Why take the one thing from me that I loved and treasured and held sacred. Why take my heart? Why take my baby? Why take my joy? Why break my family? Where is he? This is the worst kind of punishment. The worst thing that could have happened has happened in the worst possible way. I only see him in my sleep where I’ve been trying to stay. Asleep. I’m broken. I’m so scared. I’m scared this is the end of me. I’m scared I’ll never feel happiness again. I’m scared I’ll never forgive myself. I’m scared for my children. I see the look of pain in their eyes and how worried they are, the worst kind of mirror. I see that no one will leave me alone as if I need to be on some sort of suicide watch. If only it were that easy, to die and melt away. I’m trying so hard to hold on. Maya keeps wiping my tears away with tissue after tissue. And Kesav held me when I had to bury my baby in a box in the dirt. The kids sleep in my room at night so I don’t have to be alone and I try to cry quietly so I don’t wake them. They keep bringing me food that I can’t eat. Sagar tried to make me coffee because he knows how happy coffee usually makes me. I tried to leave my room to watch Narnia with them. I keep having to remind myself that my children lost their brother too. I know I’m not the first mother to lose her child. Others have come before me and I honor you. I hope our children are all together somewhere. That’s one thought that has brought me comfort.

Thank God so many people loved Ravi because this grief is too much to bear alone. It’s ripping me to shreds and rotting my insides. Namraj held onto me all night. He held my face and he held my hand and wrapped his legs around me. His feet smelled bad from not washing his socks. I kept telling myself in the morning I would give him a bath but when the morning came I didn’t have the strength to stand. All I want is the strength to bathe my child.

I’m trying to hold on to something. To be grateful for something. The birds were chirping all afternoon as if they knew. I’m grateful for the sounds of my children trying to learn guitar and piano. I am grateful to the psychologist Buddhist healer who came from Kathmandu to keep me breathing. I’m grateful for Geyatri mantra, the prayer and song that’s the only thing that puts me to sleep. I’m grateful for Namraj’s little feet and my children’s eyes and for the nano-seconds that I can forget what happened and the pain subsides. I’m grateful that I’m not in this alone and I have access to help that many mothers don’t.

I still have my family. We will still be a family and I will be a mom again because that’s what I was brought here to do. I will fight with all the love and strength in my body to get Maggie back. The one who was happy and sang and danced and mothered, and could make people laugh and make the world better. It will take a long time and it will be ugly but I will fight for as long as it takes with every master healer and every ancient teaching and every piece of poetry with every religion with every ounce of hope and love to heal. I won’t miss out on my children’s childhood. I won’t let this be the end of me and my family. I won’t stop serving and I won’t let Ravi’s teachings or his memory die.