Why do I even bother looking at this? Who cares what the damn doctor thinks, it's not helping. There is nothing that can possibly help. The bastard that killed my babies is dead and that doesn't help. The woman who led him to them stays away from me and that doesn't help. Their waste of a father doesn't bother me anymore and that doesn't help.
I'm running out of reasons to keep going. Sometimes all I can do is sit and stare at those pictures they drew. They called him the man. It's odd. He doesn't look like the man who killed them. The man in the pictures was bald.
I asked them once why the man in their pictures didn't have a face. They said cause he doesn't have one Mommy. And they laughed like they were telling me a joke. But then when I asked why he had arms like a spider's legs they didn't laugh. They just cried and curled up in my lap.
Is it my fault for not taking the pictures more seriously?