After 10 days with people I know a little, some barely, for the holiday, I suddenly feel the urge of being left alone. For some moments, they created a distraction and I did not have to think about my own problem. Like a volcano that does not explode until years or decades later, I have been brewing inside. I do not know what it is. But, whatever it is, it makes me itching for solitude, and at the same time wanting to share my grief. Few times, I wanted to bring pictures of my baby Kevin and introduce him, as everyone was sitting around chatting and giggling. I wanted to shout, “Look, who do I bring with me?” But, I did not. Who would care about my dead child? Do I want to spoil the seemingly-holly moments? I saw my child, right here, in the room, but I could not say a word. Instead, I locked myself in the bedroom, thumbing through the album pages in tears. Sorry, son, I am weak. Please forgive me.
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