If you aren't capable of handling raw emotion I'm going to ask you not to read any further. I am not holding back any words or thoughts in this, so you have been warned. It is not a pleasant journal entry, but it is reality- My reality, my son's reality. It's not for you to judge. Mother's Day is destroyed for us now.
Her handler probably won't have the balls to let her read this, his own fragile existence would probably shit itself at the thought and I seriously doubt she would have the courage to make it to the end. She has already demonstrated that. Truth hurts. That's why she needed something barely stronger than herself with a paycheck because he's controllable. Weak men need love too I suppose, even if they have to buy it.
This is the time of the year that I'd be thinking about trying to do something special for Diane. The only problem I'm facing now, is the reality that the woman that has control of my son at the moment is not his mother.
What used to be a celebration of what we did is now marked on this day from here on out as a remembrance that she died- this thing she is now cannot change that, she will bury it in her own self-loathing and despair, hide it with hollow spoils, stolen laughter, and our murdered, innocent lives. She deserves it as such. I may always be a reminder, but even when I'm gone, the life our son was supposed to have will remain long after she is gone.