I have spent over four years trying to figure out the how and why of everything, and why it is so hard to forgive myself, stop wearing the guilt, and just move forward, always remembering what my family lost, but being able to allow myself to move in a more positive direction. The answers have been all over the place these past four years and none of them has ever really addressed what I realized about myself and why this still hurts so much. Throughout this journey I have been looking for the answers in all the wrong places. I obsessed over SIDS…like knowing what it is makes a difference. Dead is dead, no matter the cause. I have consumed more alcohol than I ever care to admit figuring that numbness was better than pain, but as always, the numbness wears off, and the pain is still there. I have yelled, screamed, cursed everyone and everything in this universe for having to live with this unfairness, and I have just gone into my own shell and wallowed in depression because I wanted and needed to constantly beat myself up since it had to be my fault. Then I realized something…and this is why I believe grief is the most selfish of emotions…I was unique in that I am the only one on this Earth who can never get away from Colin’s death bed. I know, I know, my wife and oldest daughter have their uniqueness surrounding their experiences and grief, but this post is about my realization. Recently, I have become a bit obsessive when showering in washing my shoulder (the physical place where Colin died), like soap is going to wash away his death. I know it doesn’t make any logical sense, but I do it anyway. Recently, I started having flashbacks again since my youngest has now taken to resting her head on that same shoulder, and every now and again, I get a cold chill that runs throughout my body, triggering another flashback. I look down to reassure myself that the child there is my living daughter, and not my dead son. Sometimes, it takes a few seconds for the image of Colin’s lifeless body to go away. Sometimes it disappears immediately and my heart stops racing, and my mind goes back to the here and now. Either way, it has been making me a bit obsessive in trying to rub death off of my skin, which again, is a bit crazy, but it is at least a better coping mechanism than a lot of other options. This is the part when my brain starts wishing for replacement parts so I could just go to the hospital and get a whole new arm because, quite frankly, I am really quite tired of feeling so damned unique.