March 6, 2011
I woke up early on a beautiful Saturday morning to the sound of my son screaming from down the hall. I quickly got out of bed and ran into his room. I thought that it could be no more than a childish nightmare of some sort.

I stepped into his room, and the tears were pouring down his face. He looked up me with snot coming out of his nose, and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Where’s mommy?” he asked, “I want my mommy!”

“Shhhh Timmy, it’s going to be ok.” I tried to put my arm around him, but again he looked up at me with his huge blue eyes.

“I want my mommy. Where is she? I just want my mommy.”

I put my arms around him and hugged him, as he sobbed into my shirt. I hate watching my son cry. It makes me want to cry too, because there never seems to be anything I can do to make him stop.

“What happened Timmy?” I asked, in the nicest voice I could manage.

“I had a bad dream,” he stated, plain and simple.

“What happened in the dream?” I questioned.

“You killed mommy.” I looked at him, and wondered if he really understood. I wondered if he truly understood what happened that night. I doubt that he did, and I know he will never forgive me for it.
Often times I wonder if there was anything I could do to prevent the death of mommy. I look back on that night, almost every day of my life. It seems like it was just yesterday, but it was exactly 2 years 3 months and 13 days since that one fateful night. I will never forget what happened. It has haunted me in every single dream since then, and it probably will for the rest of my life. I wake up in the middle of every night, covered in sweat, crying. It must be a pathetic sight, but I can’t seem to rid myself of those memories.
My son and I used to play catch every Saturday afternoon in the backyard. But ever since mommy left, that’s come to an end. He quit playing baseball after mommy left, and hasn’t touched his mitt since then. One Saturday, I decided that this should come to an end.
“Timmy, would you like to play catch with me in the yard? Like old times?” I asked as I walked into his room.
“Can you just leave me alone dad?” he said, annoyed. I didn’t want to pester him any further so I walked out of his room, and into mine. I took a nap, and the dreams persisted.
This dream was different from the others. It started off with me walking down a long, dark corridor. I kept walking and walking, but it seemed to go on forever. But then I start to hear a voice, whispering to me. I can’t make out what she’s saying, and I start to run. The whispering gets louder, and I fall to my knees, crying out her name. A hooded figure begins to approach me, and I stare up in terror. The figure starts to take off their hood, but I suddenly wake up. I look at the clock and I notice its 5 pm. I had been sleeping for the past 4 hours. I got up and went to see what Timmy was up to. His door was open a crack and I peered in, using whatever stealth I possessed. He was sitting at his desk staring at a picture. It looked like the picture I took of him and his mom on his 7th birthday. I tried to study his face while he stared at this picture but it really didn’t show much emotion at all. It looked like he was staring straight through it. I began to tear up at the sight of this, knowing that I was the sole reason my child would grow up without a mother. I slowly walked away looking back on that night. Oh how I would never forget it.
It was an ordinary Friday night us. Jen and I got a babysitter for Timmy, and we went out, as we did every other Friday night. We went to a cocktail party hosted by a friend of ours. Usually I keep it to about a 2 drink maximum, but tonight I wanted to loosen up, and I ended up having 5 drinks. I got fairly drunk, as did my wife, and when it came time for us to head home, we were unsure what to do.
“Should we call a taxi?” Jen asked me.
“No, no. We can’t leave our car here. I’ll drive us home. We’ll be fine.” Little did I know that nothing at all would be fine. I managed to get about three blocks, but once I hit a busy intersection I became scared and disoriented. I ran right through the red light and smashed into a pickup truck. Our car was very old so we didn’t have airbags, and Jen wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. She went flying out the front windshield. Luckily, I had my seatbelt on and I left without a single scratch. Jen died on impact, and it was a disgusting scene. I cried and cried, and begged for her to come back to life. Eventually, her body was taken away and I was arrested for a DUI.
That night has haunted me for the past two years and it always will. I know that Timmy will probably never forgive me for it, and I really can’t expect him to. I killed his mother, the woman who gave him life. The woman who nursed him as an infant. The woman who tucked him in every single night and read him bedtime stories. The woman that loved him more than anything else. I don’t think I could forgive myself for what I did. I had been contemplating suicide for some time now. My son doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore, and I don’t think he really needs me. I thought that maybe I should just give it one last chance.
“Timmy, you need to listen to me. I’m really sorry. I know you will probably never forgive me, and believe me, I can’t even forgive myself, but I want you to know that I truly am sorry. Your mom loved you more than anything, and she was an incredible woman. I know you’re sad, but she would’ve wanted you to live your life to the fullest. She will live on forever in our memories, and we will never forget her. I know it won’t be easy, but all I ask for is your forgiveness. I love you, son.”
Timmy looked like he was going to say something to me, but he looked away. I thought that perhaps I should leave him alone, to mull over what I had just told him. I walked out of the room, and went into the living room to watch TV. About 30 minutes later, Timmy comes out of his room holding something under his arm.
“What’s that Timmy?” I asked him. He held out his hand and in it were the two mitts we used to use to play catch with. He handed one of them to me, and led me to our backyard. We played catch for the first time in 2 years, 3 months, and 21days.

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