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"Just give yourself time." "God has a plan." or "It's just the cycle of life." Those phrases and numerous others didn't bring any comfort or solace to me. What I wanted and needed to hear was, "I'm here for you" and people meaning it. The moments of sharing personal stories of their experiences with Reiley and the joy he brought into their lives was much more meaningful than any other word that could have been spoken.

Helping
I will never forget the day my sister decided to help me after Reiley died. I don't recall where I had been, but I remember coming through the front door and my sister mentioned that she had bagged up some of Reiley's things.

I must have stood there with a blank stare, as I couldn't respond. I felt as though I was being cheated of closing that chapter of my life myself. I was his mother and it was up to me to bag and box up his things without anyone else interfering with that process.

I was angry, instantly irate. I don't remember if I yelled or screamed or even said anything. I don't recall if I broke down into tears; but I do know that I held onto a great deal of resentment towards my sister for quite some time following.

Ironically, it wasn't my sisters desire to pack up Reiley's things. My father had decided he would step in and ensure that I was okay. All he really did by insisting others complete those tasks was hurt me for a longer time and more deeply.

Blame

When you face a death, it is easy to post blame anywhere you can. In my situation, I've oftentimes blamed myself for the death of my son. That in it-self has been an uphill battle.

My son died to SIDS. It has continued to be a painful situation. I felt such great blame for not waking up sooner, not offering him one more bottle before bed; having co-slept I even blamed myself for possibly suffocating him. Some moments are better than others are; however I will still occasionally think about him sleeping in my bed with me just feet away, as the reason for his death.

The morning I found him; I recall John (from the funeral home) coming in to take his body. I looked at him and begged that he find an answer as to why my son died. I needed some reasoning and proof; anything that would answer the millions of questions I had going through my mind. He asked if I wanted an autopsy done; I jumped and said yes.

It was weeks after Reiley's funeral that I finally received a copy of his death certificate as well as his autopsy report. I read it from front to back numerous times. There was nothing.

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