On day, I hope to be able to make sense of what happened and to understand what could drive a man, once a loving and caring father, to take his own son’s life. I hope to one day understand how a man who once loved life and his family could ruin it all, just like that. How could a dream life turn into a living nightmare?
I married my late husband at nineteen and, at a time of his death, we had been married for almost 13 years. We often talked about our retirement together—how we would travel the world, attend operas, theater performances and concenters around the globe. Never in my life would I have imagined that I would become a widow at only 33 years old and that one of us would never live to retire and do all those things we had always dreamed of.
Honestly, until I met my late husband, I never really believed in love at first sight. Although our relationship was never filled with an intense, burning love, from the moment we met, we felt like we had known each other since forever and understood each often without saying a word. We became best of friends and for much of our first years together we were almost inseparable: we traveled the world together; danced together; laughed; did almost everything together. Though sometimes we did feel a bit lonely, we were busy enjoying life and did not have children for many years after getting married.
The time finally came when everything seemed perfect to start a family: we both had great jobs and were financially stable; we bought our dream house in a perfect neighborhood; and had my mom coming to help us out. We were ready to finally start our own family. On December 22, 2011 we welcomed our beautiful baby boy, Sebastian. Almost two years later, we welcomed our second little miracle, Gia.
Our life seemed almost perfect from the outside, but unfortunately, by now the reality of our life was far from perfect. Even though, I did start seeing slight differences in my late husband’s behavior even before we had children, I am not sure when the real shift happened exactly. I wonder if it was right before we came to California from Germany. I don’t know the exact details, but I do know he began having some problems there at work. Without giving me any specifics, he just told me he would never again allow people to step over him and hurt him, and that the ‘old’ him was gone. After a while, I did notice a change in his behavior towards other people. The anger and defensives in his behavior took me by surprise and I was unsure what should I make of these shifts or whether there was anything I could do about them. By the time I became pregnant with Gia, his behavior started to affect our relationship.
My late husband definitely had his own way of seeing and doing things—I did not necessary approve of them but did not really have much influence over them either. He was the dominant force in our marriage and often made family decisions without even consulting me. However, for the most part, I was under the impression that at least we made a majority of life decisions together, though it certainly changed around the time I became pregnant with Gia.
Maybe there have been other incidents earlier that I just overlooked or do not remember but for me the downward spiral all started with him buying a car… He always dreamed of having a Porsche and at this point in our lives, he apparently thought he could afford one. To me, the purchase was a complete waste of money, I never approved of him getting that car, nor did I ever give him my blessings. He did end up buying it anyway and later purchased and did many other things without my approval. Slowly, without even fully realizing it, I became less respected as a mother and as a woman.
Our home life was crumbling as well. We always had a hard time with the kids, I realize that in reality we all do, but it always seemed that ours were just a bit less cooperative than others. We had constant issues with childcare. Except for Sebastian’s first nanny—and few others—we were never able to find the right person to take care of our babies the way we wanted them to be taken care of. We always seemed to attract unhappy and problematic people into our lives—which, looking back at it, may have been somewhat of a mirror-image of our lives. Things at work were not going as well as they used to either. I became distracted, made more mistakes and began to feel like an outsider. My energy levels were also affected. Even though I like to think of myself as a person who is naturally active and energetic, I became weak, lethargic and begun feeling exhausted every single day. I developed insomnia and for months I was unable to fall asleep without sleep aids.
Not too long before Thanksgiving my late husband’s behavior became stranger. He began accusing me, and other people, of doing things that never happened—these accusations were extremely bizarre and hurtful. Despite his odd behavior, I was still not understanding what was happening. Then, his unusual behavior stopped and we had the most beautiful and magical Christmas ever. Such a beautiful time, filled with peace, harmony and joy—so different from our chaotic life filled with minutia. We enjoyed our time together: playing with the babies; dancing; signing and just having fun. It felt like a glimpse of sunshine on a rainy day—before the storm that came in and destroyed everything.
Towards the end of March, around Easter, issues escalated to a whole new level. On Easter Sunday, I prepared a nice brunch and, as we sat outside enjoying it, I looked over at my late husband and did not recognize the person I once knew. He was absentminded: he ate and acted as if he wasn’t really there with us. He appeared disturbed, angry. All of a sudden he stopped talking all together. The only words I heard from him were short answers, “yes,” “no.”
That day we went for a walk at the beach. As we walked we passed a family having a picnic at the beach. I stopped for a moment to look at them as they enjoyed their time together. As I stood there I realized that we were not like that anymore. I remember feeling such an incredible sadness and confusion. During the night I told him about it, but he was not understanding at all what I was trying to say, and out of frustration I said some negative things about him as a father. After that I entered into the enemy zone…
From then on it felt as if I were living in my worst nightmare. In the days following our last conversation, he refused to speak to me all together. During the weekend I begged him to talk to me, and he dared me to file for a divorce, noting that when I did, he would take my babies away from me. I knew that he wasn’t bluffing and would do anything to take them away. He was not the type of a person you wanted to have as an enemy. I knew better than anyone else what he was capable of. I also knew his passion for lawsuits, civil matters and that he would not give up easily. Me, on the other hand, I was completely unknowledgeable regarding any legal matters, including divorce. Then there was always the financial matter of how I would be able to cope. Even though I had a full-time, well-paying job, he was the one who controlled our finances. To be honest, I did not really know what was happening with our money. From the beginning of our relationship I trusted him with everything, especially since in the beginning my English was very limited and I did not know how to get around or do many things in the US. Meanwhile, he seemed to have a great handle on everything, so I never had any reason to doubt him and it just stayed that way. When our lives took the turn I never expected, I just did not know what to do.
As time went on, his paranoia only got worse. He began to accuse me, again, of some insanely absurd nonsense. It got to the point where he would wake me up in the middle of the night to question me about something that he made up in his head. I was very afraid: afraid to see him this way and petrified that one day he could end up hurting me.
I was very surprised, though I probably shouldn’t have been, when he began hitting me. The first time it happened, we were at a playground with the kids. I was enjoying my time with them, when suddenly a ball hit me from behind. Shocked, I turned around only to see his anger as be began accusing me of something absurd once again. After the incident at the park, he kept finding more odd reasons to hit me. To avoid leaving any visible marks, he always hit me on the head. He never hit me very hard, never when the kids were watching—except for that very last times.
One day, hurrying to take my babies out for a walk, I left the front door partially opened, enough for our neighbor’s dog to wander inside. His owner, trying to retrieve him, followed behind. When I returned, I was greeted by an unpleasant scene of my late husband’s accusations and the neighbor’s screams. He was certain that I must have been conspiring with the neighbor against him and we were both out to hurt him. It was then he decided to purchase a gun to protect himself.
I was mortified. At this point, I realized I must act quickly in order to protect both my babies and myself. I began by calling different places and people in order to gather as much information as possible—during the limited time I had when he was not home. I knew I had to leave the house, I just did know how and where I would go.
Luckily, his first attempt to purchase a firearm was unsuccessful. The store’s owner noticed right away something suspicious in his behavior. I will never forget the moment when the store’s owner called to let me know my husband is in his store attempting to buy a gun. I immediately started to cry. I wanted to tell him how scared I was but I was just too afraid to say anything. The store owner could probably sense the fear in my voice and alerted the police asking them to check up on us. Unfortunately, my late husband returned home before the police arrived and never let them in.
I was hysterical and I had no idea what to do. I did not keep in touch with any of my friends anymore: over the last months, if not years, he slowly led me to believe that everyone around us was either our enemy, or did not wish us well. Our families were no exception. Even if that weren’t the case, my family was across the globe. I felt completely lost when it came to dealing with all legal matters and I felt financially depended on my husband. I was mortified that it would not matter where I would go or what I would do but that he would find me and hurt me and anyone who tried to help. I dreamt of getting on the plane with my babies and getting as far away from him as possible. However, even with my limited legal knowledge I knew that I could not legally leave the state, let alone go to Poland or anywhere abroad with the kids…
I was so relieved that he was unable to obtain the gun. I thought that for sure that since he was unable to purchase it once, he would never be able to… I was so wrong…
Meanwhile, every free minute I had, I spent on planning and researching what I could do and how to escape. I made calls to battered woman hotlines and shelters. After doing some research online, I realized that in the worst case scenario when things get bad, I could always call the police and get a restraining order on the spot, as well as arrange some other alternative. My real problem, however, was finding a good time to run away. He was always in the house, and with him there I would never be to take the kids and just leave. Planning to leave at night also posed a huge risk, since at that point, he barely slept at night.
Sadly, being the romantic optimist that I was, deep down in my heart I think I still hoped that somehow everything would improve. On Friday, before it all happened, I finally realized that there is no going back. I realized that everything really changed—forever. His poor mental state was now clearly noticeable. His face began to squint and move by itself. It was really difficult to watch him that way. His overall behavior worsened as his bursts of anger escalated. During one of those anger outbursts he told me that I would soon be leaving the house…dead.
On Tuesday he fired our nanny for no good reason and decided that Sebastian would not be returning to school. I felt he was planning something.
Up until then, despite his behavior towards other people and me, he remained caring and overly protective towards our kids. However his condition finally reached a point, when I knew I could not leave my babies with him even for one more minute. The following day, I was supposed to go into the office but knew I could not leave Sebastian and Gia with him.
On that faithful night, just like on every other night, I gave my babies a bath and was dressing them afterwards. It was then that he came in and hit me, again. This time it was right in front of Sebastian and Gia. That was the last straw. I knew, I had to do something. It wasn’t about him hitting me. On a physical level it only hurt a little bit and it did not feel like that big of deal to me. It became a big deal when he proceeded to hit me in front of my babies. They did not deserve to witness anything like that.
On an impulse, I grabbed Gia, ran downstairs and dialed 911. I was in the downstairs bathroom when he came in. Upon realizing that I called the police, he began to hit me in rage. Somehow, I was able to run outside the garage door. Sebastian was right behind me, running around and having fun. He did not understand what was happening. I was just about to grab him and run towards the street, towards the neighbors, but he was faster than me… He picked up Sebastian and began to close the garage door. I, instead of doing something, was just standing there filled with terror, watching the garage door closing after the two of them. By the time I made it to the front door, he already locked it. I had no idea what to do… Then looking through the glass in the front door, I saw him coming down holding something to his chest… I suppose that something was a gun.
The police finally arrived. They took my testimony and collected as much information as they could and drove me down to another side of the neighborhood. I waited and waited for what seems like an eternity. No one wanted to tell me anything or give me any updates. I saw the ambulance drive by and then leave shortly after. Deep down I knew that something was wrong but, at the same time, I still wanted to believe that in just a minute or two, I would be able to hold my baby boy again. After hours of waiting someone finally came and told me the truth… I was told that he shot Sebastian to death and then took his own life.
At first I did not believe them. Then I remember a million of thoughts running through my mind and the pain. Pain that could not be compared to anything in this world. But before the darkness completely consumed my whole entire being, I also remember felling relief… relief that he, my husband, was gone.
When the police asked me where they should take me, I did not know what to tell them. At this point, I did not keep in touch with any of my old friends and my family was thousands of miles away. I thought of my old friend I met at work, Elena. A couple of hours later, I was standing with the police officers at her door. I only planned to spend there a day or two at most, but ended up staying there for almost two months. Elena and her husband surrounded Gia, my mom and me with care I never thought existed in this world.
The night of my arrival, I was just grateful to have a safe place to sleep and, if I had to, I would gladly sleep on her doormat that fatal night. Despite the numbness and pain of Sebastian’s loss and the trauma, for the first time in weeks I felt safe. I was not afraid anymore.
I remember entering the bedroom where we stayed at Elena’s and just laying down on the bed in my clothes. I did not feel hot nor cold. I just laid there with my eyes open, feeling numb, so very numb. I have never felt so abandoned by God like I did that night. For most of my life, I found comfort in prayer and always prayed quite a bit. But in these last weeks and months, I had spent countless hours on my knees everyday asking for help, begging for a miracle. I was never the one to give up easily. I could have had a bad day or even two when I felt really down but it was my faith that allowed me to get up and try even harder. On that night, it felt like all my faith was forever gone. I fought all my life to find happiness, love and peace and now it felt like there was nothing else to fight for.
I also knew that my life was now completely changed. All I ever wanted was a normal life which was now forever gone. I would now have to live my life knowing that one day I would need to tell my daughter what her father had done. I wondered what I would tell people when they asked me about my husband or my son. Any hope for a normal life that I always asked for in my prayers, had eternally vanished.
In the days following, I drowned in an ocean of my own tears. I began to remember various things. I realized that I would never be able to do all the things I wanted to do with Sebastian: ride the subway; take him to Paris to see his beloved Eiffel Tower; kiss him ‘good bye’ as he left for his first day of school. The list of regrets was endless, just like the tears that flew out in streams from my eyes.
In reality, I lost two people I loved on that fatal night… I just had no idea how to even process the death of someone who had caused me so much pain. It seemed easiest to completely erase my husband from my memory. Even though everyday life kept reminding me of his existence, I did not want to talk or even think about him at all.
In addition to processing my grief, I had to deal with the police and social services–which were amazingly supportive and caring—as well as the press.
I had no idea what I should do with our house. I just could not imagine living there ever again but, at the same time, it was the house where my babies began growing up. This house was filled with so many beautiful memories of Sebastian and me playing together… I was not sure if I could bring myself up to selling our home. I realized that someone would have to keep paying for the mortgage although, at this point, I did not even know how much money I had. I was notified by my work that he cancelled his life insurance policy at some point before his death so I could not count on that money either. There were so many things that needed to be taken care of, yet I had no idea how to do it. I was not only completely emotionally drained but it also seemed that I encountered a roadblock at every turn. Everything seemed so overwhelming.
My next task included deciding on the funeral arrangements. My late husband’s family were coming to California and were kind enough to take care of all the funeral arrangements for him. However I still had to make all the decisions pertaining to Sebastian’s funeral—decisions that no parent ever wants to make.
During the entire period of funeral preparation, I had no doubt in my mind that I did not want to see Sebastian’s body. I wanted to remember him alive and yes, I was also afraid. I was afraid of how he looked and my reaction. The funeral home personnel kept asking me, over and over again, whether I wanted to see him. Then, one of the employees who was helping with the paperwork, asked if I wanted to dress him, otherwise she would have to do it herself. At first, I could not believe that she would even ask me that, after I stated on numerous occasions that I did not wish to see his body. Then I realized I could not imagine this woman, who was also not the sweetest person in the world to put it mildly, dress my baby boy. I began to pray for guidance and for strength. Even on the day I was supposed to dress Sebastian, I felt uneasy as to what I would do. Nonetheless, when I entered the funeral home, I went straight to the room where his body was laying.
I will never forget the time I got to spend with Sebastian on that day. When I entered the room, I saw him laying down. He looked as if he were just taking a nap. He looked so beautiful, my little sleeping angel. When I approached him, I could not help but to look at his head. His beautiful hair was neatly covering the wound from the gun shot… When I uncovered him from the white sheet, I saw my boy laying there in a teeny-tiny diaper. My beautiful three-and-a-half year old boy placed in a diaper with his body all stitched up after the autopsy. He really looked just as if he was sleeping but his body was so cold and numb. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, but I could not get past that coldness and numbness of his body.
I began to cry as I talked to him for a really long time. I began asking him for forgiveness, for not being able to protect him and for all the things I did or did not do. During this whole time, I could strongly feel his presence, a little above me to my right. I have had that feeling pretty much ever since he died, but during that time it was so much stronger.
My wonderful friend, Elena, was so amazing and brave to come with me, and with her help, I dressed Sebastian and placed him in the casket. He laid there, with his head on a pillow, covered in his favorite blankets, looking so beautiful. Afterwards, my mom came in, followed by my husband’s family. This was the first time they saw him…. As I was standing beside them, something magical happened. Maybe it was just an illusion from all the pain I experienced, maybe not… All of a sudden I felt Sebastian’s presence in the left corner of the room and when I looked over there, I could swear that I saw my baby boy sitting in an armchair, smiling and happily kicking his feet up and down. No matter what that was, I will cherish this precious moment forever.
Following day was the funeral itself. I was relatively calm that day, until we arrived at the church and I saw his picture placed by the altar. Friends and family were coming by to greet me, but as I talked to them I felt like I was behind a veil. Then the casket arrived… I vividly remember the moment when the trunk of the funeral car opened and I saw the little white casket carried out. I stood by, watching it being transported from the car to the church, feeling that huge hole in my heart. Right before I entered the church with my mother, the employees and parents from Sebastian’s Montessori School came by and handed me a folder containing his artwork, pictures and a yearbook. I grasped it with the uttermost gratitude and held it close to my heart during the entire mass. I entered with my mom as we followed the casket into the church. We sat in front of his picture, beside my late husband’s family. The service itself was beautiful and so was the music, which made us even more emotional… By the time the mass was over, I barley had enough strength from the constant crying, to get up. As I walked out, there was a line of what seemed like a million people ready to offer their condolences. I asked God for his help and to give me strength to stand there until the last person came by.
Afterwards, we headed to the cemetery. By the time we arrived, everything was already set up and the service began. Few minutes into the service his picture fell off to the ground. I began crying again. Then the picture fell off again, and again, and again until someone came and held it until the service was over. I felt terrible… Even though the picture falling down could have been just a mere accident, at that time, it felt like it was my Sebastian trying to tell me how unhappy he was with me and my inability to protect him. Now, knowing what I know, I believe it was not just a coincidence, it was Sebastian trying to tell me, “I am okay mommy, there is no need to cry that much”…
After the funeral it was nothing but darkness and tears. My dad, who was normally very supportive, yelled at me for not telling him earlier what was happening instead of giving me the comfort I had hoped for. Needless to say, that was not what I needed at that particular time. Filled with all the guilt, shame and sadness, and not wanting to deal with the incredible amount of all of the unpleasant ‘earthly’ things that I was left to deal this, the easiest solution seemed to take my own life… I came very close to it but there was always my beautiful, little innocent Gia who had already lost her father, her beloved brother, her house and everything else that was so familiar to her. It was pure torture watching her approach other men for a hug or running after little boys that reminded her of Sebastian at the playground. She still prefers to play with boys over girls while at the playground, usually picking little blond boys to be her friends.
I was at a complete loss. It felt like the darkness was just closing its claws around me. Even though by now I was able to pray again as well as to talk to Sebastian a lot, it still felt like God and everyone else had abandoned me. However, yet again God showed me he was still with me: while prayers kept me alive, it was the support of the community that gave me hope, helped me survive, and gave me the will to live. Letters and offers of assistance continued pouring in. My neighbors—people I barely knew or even met—were offering me anything from financial support and babysitting to shelter. I felt comforted by their love and support. All of my old friends, people from Sebastian’s Montessori School as well as people at work also showed me amazing support. Suddenly, I felt like maybe not all was lost, maybe God did not abandon me completely after all, and maybe, there was still some hope…
I found myself surrounded by so many good-hearted people. I barely knew them but they took care of my like I was truly their best friend or a family member. They helped me unravel my legal and financial situation, they drove me places I needed to go, and even prepared our house for sale by packing my belongings and cleaning it out. All these people were a true blessing and a gift from God since, at that time, I was not capable of doing any of these things by myself. Without them, their care, help and support I doubt I would be here today. At work, my coworkers as well as the management also showed me an incredible amount of support. My dearest friend Elena allowed for Gia, my mom and me to remain living with her family for over two months. Her and her husband took care of the three of us like no else ever did. They did things for me I don’t think anyone else would….I owe them both my life and my love.
Not long after the funeral I went to Poland to spend some time with my family. During my stay there I continued to pray a lot which helped me realize something very important, something that helped me survive and to keep going. I realized that, although, I cannot change the past, perhaps there is something I could do to one day make Sebastian proud of me. Maybe I could find a way to help others who were in a similar situation to mine. This simple yet powerful thought became my motivation as well as my drive in the course of the healing process. It felt as if, in my short 33-years on this planet, I already gathered a lifetime—or five of them—of experiences. It felt like there was nothing left that I had not experienced already. I hoped that one day I would be able to help someone who could relate to my story. I was yet unsure how I could help but I knew one day I would be able to. With this thought I continued to pray, “God, please take my hands so eager to help, take my heart and fill it with love and please use them one day to help others. Guide me in choosing the right path.”
When I returned from Poland, I threw myself into trying to organize the mess that I was left with. Even though I was still grieving, I wanted to keep busy—keeping busy allowed me to not dwell on the past too much. I did not want to cry in front of others anymore so I began suppressing the tears and the sadness. As a result, numbness and confusion replaced the pain. On one occasion, someone told me something that was sad, but instead of sympathizing, I almost laughed in their face! It wasn’t that they said something humorous or that I wanted to purposely laugh. It just happened. I believe that was the price I had to pay for not allowing myself to feel the pain that was still in my heart. Suppressing the memory of my husband, and not allowing myself to grieve his death or even letting myself cry as much as I should have and needed to, created more chaos in my life emotionally.
Luckily, God was drafting his own plan for my healing journey. One of my dear neighbors, who was a good friend, was so inspired by my struggle, she gathered enough courage to contact a local singer who also lost her baby many years ago in a car accident. She agreed to come out and talk to me despite her very busy schedule.
Meeting, talking and just spending time with her felt like a Band-Aid on the wide-opened wound in my heart. During our meeting, we were able to share our feelings, experiences and wisdom, however just being in her presence was very comforting and healing. If there are angels here on Earth, I am sure she must be one of them. At times when I was really down, I would play one of her videos for Gia and me and just by listening to her and looking at her eyes filled with so much love for God, I could feel my spirit lift up.
One of my dearest friends helped me get an apartment of my own and a wonderful group of friends and neighbors helped me move in. I was anxious about leaving Elena’s house but, obviously, I could not stay there forever and I felt I had stayed there long enough. My friend suggested an apartment complex that was located near Elena’s house and where one of them had lived before. I was a bit hesitant about moving there but eventually I did end up renting one of the apartments at the complex.
On my moving day, my neighbors brought some of my belongings from the house as well as some toys. Everything else that could remind me of our old house, including our furniture, all his clothes, our souvenirs, appliances, kitchen equipment, even my cosmetics and perfumes, was donated. I knew that nothing from the house would be brought over however my heart stopped the moment I realized that some of Sebastian’s toys were also not going to make it to the apartment. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, just a little misunderstanding, which created so much heartbreak and so much pain it was unbearable.
It took me almost a week to gather enough courage to ask my friend was happened with his ATV and some other things. I was told someone took them by mistake but would be more than willing to return it to us. I really did not know how to respond: maybe Sebastian would want for someone else to be able to use them and I did not want to take the toys away from anyone else either. As usual, I turned to prayer. Then, one morning I woke up filled with unnatural anger regarding the ATV and I knew it was my sign to ask for it to be returned.
When it was finally time for me to return to work, I felt a sense of relief. I was never a person who enjoyed being home too much. I liked keeping busy and the work structure. On the other hand, I was not able to imagine returning to work, to a building where, by now, hundreds of people knew so much about my personal life. Although all of my coworkers—people who were my friends and those I even barely knew—showed amazing support, at times, it started to become too overwhelming. Many people, wishing me well, would stop me in the hallway or stop by my workstation to pay their condolences but hearing strangers repeat how sorry they were for what has happened made the pain even more apparent and made me want to cry even more. I would cry under my desk or in the restrooms. Sometimes, when I was unable to make it as far as the restroom, I would run into one of my supervisors’ office and stay there until she managed to make me feel better. Still, it was good to be back and busy.
While I threw myself into everyday home and work life, God was once again creating his miracles behind the scenes. One afternoon, at a nearby playground, I started talking to one of the moms who had a little one about the same age as Gia. Somehow the subject of my husband came up and we even briefly talked about Sebastian—of course I did not go into detail about how either one of them died. She told me she had a friend, also a Polish woman, Maggie, who was a single mom to a little girl that was also about Gia’s age. Her mom, who lived in our neighborhood, watched her daughter daily. She gave me Maggie’s phone number and couple of days later we met. I did not find out until later that, ironically, Maggie’s mission is to help women stand on their own two feet after breakups and divorces…
While her support played a vital part in my healing process, it was her friendship that was an even more amazing gift.
I really don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met her. Our daughters get along so well, they almost became like sisters, and our moms get along very well too. Most of all, it was amazing to see how many things we had in common: We both loved the same type of music; we both loved dancing; we had similar experiences in life; so many similar interests. The list is endless. Maggie has been through quite a bit herself: both her mom and her brother are cancer survivors, she went through a depression, divorce and then a painful breakup with her daughter’s dad.
She managed to open up a whole new world for me! Thanks to her, I was reminded of some things that I think I might have forgotten during me journey. She reminded me about positive thinking, the power of gratitude and, most of all, how vital self-care and self-love are. We spend time with each other every day while our little girls play together and, every day, I feel as though we do not have enough time with each other to talk about everything we need to.
Sometimes it feels like I have already lived one life and now I am starting a new one. Nothing will ever replace Sebastian or the pain of losing my family; however, I still hope that maybe one day God will give me another chance to have a family I’ve always wanted. Maybe one day He will let me hold another little boy in my arms… Hope and faith have already created so many miracles in my life; without a doubt, I know more miracles are coming.
A year has already passed since that fatal night took Sebastian and my late husband away from me. Since then, I survived many tough days but I also had so many beautiful ones. If I were ever given a chance to re-write my past, I would certainly do so. I would do everything to have my beautiful boy here with me. I would also help my husband before it was too late. I would have rewritten a lot of other things too. Unfortunately, that is not an option. What I have now is gratitude that God put me through these experiences to mold me into who I am today, and hope that one day I can use my strength to help others in their healing process as well.