Starting the second year of Matthew's death. I've been told the 2nd year is one of the hardest...funny, I've never asked why - maybe I'm afraid of finding out why...
 Today I was cleaning out stuff from under my bed. I found the box I had placed Matthew's things from his backpack. I was reading through some of the things he had wrote. It made me cry. To see his handwriting, his thoughts, his plans and goals. It made me miss my son!
 I had to cover the box back up and put it back under my bed. Today, my heart aches.