I am a horrible mommy. I am a coward. I am weak. I gave up on him unknowingly. I let myself be lied to. I believed the lies. I didn't persecute the guilty. I couldn't handle making sure those responsible remembered and were responsible for their injustice. I did not look at myself from the inside out so that I could be there with him as he died. My husband chose to be with me, his coward wife, when he wanted to be with his son when he passed. I begged to see him after I birthed him but was too quick to see him beyond the machines. I worshipped every moment with him to the fault that I was afraid to lose him. I let him rest when they told me he had to be calmed down after our visits. I should've strengthened his heart with my presence. I let him down when I thought he was waiting for us to let him go. I live on wondering if the reason why my husband won't talk about it anymore is because I was too chicken shit to be there when our son died that he felt an obligation to be with me. I am guilty of not spending every moment I could with him. I carry on a legacy of a little man I don't even know. I carried him my womb and treasured every moment he was in my arms. Part of me knew. That should've made me want to be there more. I am a horrible mommy. I am a coward. I am weak.