We docked at North Shamport for just a few minutes as we let the guy off before making our way to Illsmarsh. That, however, barely registered to me.
I turned 22 today. Though I find no reason to celebrate. It would just be another day, but the scar that this date tears on my heart is one that I don’t believe will ever heal. It’s been 12 years since the accident. Since my Andrew died. He was only 7 then. Unfortunately, being stuck on a boat for the whole day leaves one with their thoughts a lot of the time. I can’t help but to recall what happened and how I was so helpless to do anything to help him. He looks so much like Lance, I wonder if they would get along. I’ve been sitting here on this cot crying most of the day. It hurts. The image of him looking up at me with those big, pleading eyes and his hand slipping out of mine as he fell to his death… I can’t shake the feeling that it’s my fault. That I’m responsible. I was the oldest, I was suppose to take care of him, but I couldn’t. I could barely hold on. There was nothing I could do…
Sebastian and Mark came in a little while ago. I was embarrassed that they caught me during one of my crying fits. It was somewhat comforting to know that they cared enough to check on me.
I feel so weak right now. All this crying, the reflections, and now being unable to another young boy. Is this what is to become of me? The one who swore to get stronger, to help others, and never be able to do so?