A/N: I am so sorry about this! My job just started up again (it's seasonal) and we've been understaffed and between that and standardized tests I've had no time.

It's also really hard to write heavy stuff like this.

Warnings for grief, school shootings, and lynching in this chapter.

3 December 1618

He would be fifteen months old today. It's almost unbelievable. It hasn't even been a month. My whole body aches when I wake up most mornings and I have no idea how I make it through my work days. I really don't know.

5 December 1618

I was talking with my love last night and he said something that just really felt good to hear.

"I don't think I'll ever feel better."

"What?"

"I don't think it'll ever go away."

"Of course it won't," he said, shaking his head. "I don't think it ever stops hurting. I think it stops hurting quite so much. Or…it stops being all the time."

"I hope so."

"Me too."

"It's nice to know you don't think it'll go away, either."

"Yeah," he mused. "I just can't…can't imagine forgetting him. Not when I loved him so much."

"I can't either."

He sighed and rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. I thought I saw him shake his head. "I just can't get my head around it."

We sat there in silence with tea until Dolora came home and I stood to make dinner. I don't know how I manage to keep from dropping everything I touch and I found myself trying to find some plain broth to feed Luke before I remembered I don't have to. I don't know what's wrong with me.

I felt like screaming because none of us said at much at dinner and I wanted to say something but I couldn't think of anything because I just couldn't think. There was a part of me that wanted to scream.

7 December 1618

Dolora tried to tell me we'd move his crib today, put his things away in storage and all that, but her voice choked and she almost started crying and I've never seen Dolora cry before-she's all but my mother-and I couldn't stand it so I went up to my room and I cried on my own again.

I think there's something wrong with me. I'm afraid something is broken so deep down I'll never fix it.

10 December 1618

I had a horrible dream last night-worse than usual, considering I haven't slept the night through since my little Luke died-and I woke up crying, reaching out for my love. I needed him so much right then, I needed to know he was alive. I don't want to recite the dream but suffice it to say the fact that his skin was still on his bones and his blood was still in his body was enough to calm me down. If Luke had been there I would've needed to check on him too. It was…I haven't had a nightmare that bad since that day in March all those years ago. I hope I never have one so bad again.

12 December 1618

I'm usually the only person in the house who wakes up screaming, and even that's only happened a few times since I moved in with them (it's mostly crying now). So I've never before appreciated how terrifying it can be.

My love woke up last night in the middle of the night with the most heart-wrenchingly terrifying scream I've ever heard. I woke up and I saw him sitting up in bed, taking heaving breaths and crying.

"Dianna! Dianna, are you okay?" He threw the blankets aside and got out of bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to know if Mama and Simonn are okay!"

"What on Earth is going on?"

He ran out of the room and I heard him run into Simonn's room.

"Simonn! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He ran into Dolora's room and I was still half-asleep and confused. "Mama, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, little love. What's going on?"

"Just a nightmare." I heard him take one of those steadying breaths he takes. "Goodnight."

He said goodnight to Simonn and walked back into our room.

"Sigmun, what on Earth was that?"

He took yet another deep breath and sat back in bed. "I dreamed we were all in a school. I think it was a school, I mean, in the dream I knew I was in school. Mama was a teacher and we were all in school. We were all doing a worksheet-that's what they called it in the dream, a piece of paper with math problems on it. Mama was helping me, because I didn't understand a problem. And then I heard a scream, and I looked because I was confused, and someone ran through the door with-well, it didn't look like a rifle, but in the dream I knew it was a gun, a big gun that was black and shiny-and started shooting. Mama tried to stop him but he shot her and she fell, and I saw you and Simonn and everyone die and then he shot me, too, and I was so scared…it was awful."

"Who would ever bring a gun to a school? Who would-who would ever kill children?"

"I don't know. I just knew that it was bad, and I was scared. I was so scared."

"I'm sorry. But we're all okay. I promise. We're all here, and we're all still alive. No guns, no worksheets, no schools. Certainly no schools."

He nodded. "I know." He sighed and collapsed onto me. Slowly as I could, I lied down with him in my arms. I held him to my chest and smoothed his hair as I whispered to him that we were all okay, everything was okay, and I loved him. He was shaking so hard it scared me.

"I love you," he whispered, like it was the most important thing he'd ever say.

"I love you too," I promised, and he fell asleep in my arms.

14 December 1618

I just keep seeing his crib and remember he's never going to lie there again and it just keeps hurting. It doesn't stop; it's relentless. I can't even will myself to keep breathing sometimes. I don't know how I make it to work, because I don't even talk to Catherine much anymore. I hear Sigmun stomping around upstairs whenever I come home and even though he pretends he's not still angry I can tell he is. It's too quiet these days around the house and I know it's never going to be the same but I wish it didn't hurt so very much.

I didn't talk last night. I just cried and I think my love cried too but it was hard to tell because I could barely tell that I was crying. I can't feel a thing besides pain.

16 December 1618

Tonight at dinner Simonn finally just asked, "When are we going to move the crib?"

I looked up at him, because we've hardly spoken over dinner in a month, and said, "I don't know."

"It can't stay there forever."

"Where will we put it?" Sigmun asked.

"The closet under the stairs," Dolora said, gesturing. "I believe there will be enough room for everything in there."

I nodded even though I could barely stand to think about our room without the crib in it. And after dinner Simonn helped me carry the crib downstairs and we all folded his clothes and put them in it with his toys and that stuffed bear he loved so much and when Dolora closed the door I had the strangest feeling, like we were abandoning him but at the same time letting go of something too big to hold on to.

17 December 1618

Simonn and I talked more today and it was so nice to just sit there and babble at him even though I could tell he was tired.

"What was it like? When they died?"

"Well…I guess for Isabella it was hard because I had to do everything. Hell, I had to make them write Isabella instead of Isaac even though she was baptized as Isaac."

"Well, she was too young to explain she was Isabella then."

"Exactly. You know, when they named her Isaac, I really thought I was wrong, and all my dreams were just lucky guesses. Or…maybe I hoped that. But then she was four and she asked me how come she had a boy's name if she wasn't really sure she was a boy…It was a pain explaining that to everyone. I mean…it's just…little things like that. You know? Christopher needed a special small coffin. My mother was so sick they almost didn't let her into the cemetery." He was crying, but not that violent visible way. Just quiet tears trickling down his cheeks. "Thomas wouldn't leave the house when my father died but I needed to get him to the funeral."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. If there's anyone who's seen death it's me."

I nodded. "I miss him."

"Me too. That doesn't go away."

"What does?"

"The stabbing pain at the very thought of them." He sighed, heavy and tired. "It never…it's never the same. I don't think I'm the same person I was before my parents and Isabella. We're not going to be the same. But…the day comes when you're more glad that it happened than sad that it ended."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. I promise."

I nodded and held my cup of tea tighter. Most of the heat was gone but I was just so tired and so sad. "I can't feel much of anything," I admitted.

"It fades."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You remember when we were nine? And Maggie died?"

"Yes."

"I didn't feel anything for months. It went away."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

And I felt some strange twinge of gratitude and I think maybe I'm not so broken I can't be fixed.

20 December 1618

Today it snowed. It's been snowing a lot lately but I noticed it today. It was quiet and light and it coated everything with a layer of sugar and it was peaceful, so calm I almost felt it. I used to pretend angels made snowflakes and I wonder if my little Luke is making snowflakes-he did love to play with pieces of paper. I'm not always sure I believe in heaven and angels and I'm even less sure about hell but I'd like to think my baby boy is safe and happy somewhere.

22 December 1618

It was so cold today when I walked to work. I think I felt it because the numbness is like a sort of cold reaching deep down to my bones. But when I sleep curled up with my husband I feel something akin to warmth, something that might be warmth if I wasn't so cold.

I remember how warm Luke was in my arms and I wonder if I could ever feel that again.

23 December 1618

Catherine brought over a big bowl of stew today and when I asked why she asked why I hadn't said anything for two weeks. I apologized to her because it's not her fault, I just can't do this. I can hardly think straight sometimes and I found another broken dish wrapped in cloth and Dolora spilled stew and Simonn is never home and I need to confront him-Sigmin-about the dishes but I'm so tired. I just want to have a rest from always hurting but it doesn't go away.

25 December 1618

It was not a happy Christmas. We had food but no one was in the mood for presents, even though it's not quite as dark as it was. Simonn usually pretends everything's alright but he wasn't and it was kind of nice because I knew I wasn't the only one still reeling. (Well, obviously Sigmun is, but I knew that already).

I watched the snow falling again today and it was so calming to see. I don't know why. Maybe it's because when I watch it snow I can pretend when it melts things will be different.

28 December 1618

He had another nightmare last night, but not a screaming one. He woke me up in the middle of the night and said, "Dianna? Are you awake?"

"I am now."

"I had another nightmare…"

"What about?"

"I'm not sure. I was walking home from work-I worked at a university-and I was carrying some books, and suddenly a bunch of men grabbed me and started beating me up. I don't know why. I wasn't me, either, I was taller and my skin was different. I think it was darker, but it was dark so I'm not sure. I thought that wasn't a problem in the future!" He shoved his fingers through his hair like he does. "And then they dragged me down a street and they…they hanged me. And it hurt so bad…I didn't know anything could hurt so much. I couldn't breathe, and I could feel myself bleeding, dying…and I knew I had to get home to you-you didn't look like you but I just knew it was you-and our children, but…I didn't. I died. And then I woke up."

"Oh my goodness."

"It was awful," he said, crossing his arms like he was hugging himself. "They just…they hated me. They hated me so much. I don't even know why. They just…they did. I thought things were better in the future! In the old dreams there wasn't any hate or anything, we were all happy and it was better, things were better! Hell, you worked at a university!"

"Sh, you'll wake everyone," I said, hugging him close. "Maybe there are just people that hate because they can. Or they don't know how to love properly. Or they're being swept along by one bad person. I bet in the future most people are good."

"I reckon most people are good now. They just don't know it yet."

And with that he fell right back asleep like nothing had happened, and I curled up with my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat so maybe I could keep breathing.

31 December 1618

A new year. Another year of living knowing that my baby boy is dead and gone and I can never hold him in my arms again, I can never kiss his forehead and tell him I love him again. I tried to find his grave but it's buried under all this snow, and there's no flowers to leave there anyways, just words.

I tried to pray because sometimes I just feel like it helps and I suppose it did but it's hard to believe something so bad could happen when I think I am a good person, and I know my love is. The snow keeps falling and burying everything, all the paths and roads and homes.

I suppose I'm not starting the new year alone, though. It makes me feel less alone, and gives me hope that it's not hopeless, that all that grief I've been sorting through isn't endless, and that maybe I'll see my little one again someday.

I hope so. I have nothing else to hope for anymore.

A/N: If I've missed any tags in any chapters someone please tell me. I really want to make sure I don't forget anything!