Sixteen months later, I finished writing a report to the Medical Board, because they think that maybe, just maybe, they’ll investigate the hospital.. but I have to convince them it’s worth their time.

Three horrifying days, with two friends keeping me breathing, I relive it all over again.  Rowan’s whole story in five objective and concise pages.  Three days of learning, through research, even more horrifying reasons that Rowan was killed, and why it was far from an error.  Three days of my two amazing friends going off to do research, and coming back with more stories, and more bad news.

Three horrifying days, and we finished, just in time to get in the car and pick up my daughter from elementary school.  Needless to say, I wasn’t able to put on that same mask that I put on every other day.

Broken.  I feel broken.  Like a wild horse, broken.  They broke me when they killed my son, and now they broke me all over again.

An hour of keeping my composure, and then I had to escape.  Sat in the Starbucks among strangers, with my head in my hands, tears flowing.  Listening to a financial planner talk about 529s.  Of course, everyone pretends they don’t notice.

Fill the car up with gas and drive.  And cry.  Wanting to kill myself to get away from the knowledge I carry.  But I didn’t.  And I won’t.  Driving and crying, on and on.

Accidentally get on the 163.  I haven’t been on this road for a while.  I forget why, and then suddenly, Rady is looming in the distance.  And I’m in the middle of the freeway, I can’t turn around.  I start screaming, and screaming, the road blurry through the tears.  Pure hate.  Yes, I finally feel it.  I have finally been put through enough.  I finally hate them.

And then, I realize, I won’t give them the satisfaction.  I fought for my son, and they handed him his poison anyway.  Now they are trying to take me.  But I will not let them take both of us.

So tomorrow, exactly sixteen months later, I will put that report in an envelope, and I will mail it.  And then I’ll go to Farm School and make pickles.

And then we’ll all pretend like nothing ever happened, just like we always do.

And so will start another string of countless days.

That is sixteen months later.