Mourning the death of my children

My two oldest children are adults now. They live elsewhere, and we brought them up with the realization that genetically, they were predisposed to vaccine injury. I had an illness-riddled youth from what I believe were vaccine reactions, and when I was an adult, a TDAP vaccine gave me a very scary reaction. This was just as my first son was in the womb. So, we did our homework, studied the facts, and decided to not vaccinate our kids. It turned out to be a choice that kept them healthy.

But then we add in the societal programming of “toxic masculinity”, the gender-fluid nonbinary bullshit, and my kids were convinced by this information that “masculinity” is bad, and that I am a bigot for not embracing the mental health nightmare of gender idealism, my kids and I are already separated physically, emotionally, and geographically. Not spiritually, yet…

When they left, it was during the start of the COVID construct, and the first thing they did was to get vaccinated. I’d bet they have 4 of these by now.

And every day, I have to manually sweep grief, anguish, rage, mourning, and brokenness under the mental rug of “things to be dealt with later, because they are too painful now.”

The likelihood that my adult children will die from the COVID genetic experiment seems pretty likely, considering that vaccine injury runs in our family. (I had an aunt that lived her entire life as mentally disabled from a vaccine injury.)

I try to shake it. I try to move past caring, But I can’t.

So, every day, for at least a minute, I mourn the death of my children. Then, I have to sweep it under the rug, or I’d never get out of bed. I love them. They hate me, and the world seems to think silence about this phenomenon, which has affected many, is okay.

The tolerance and inclusion that the left preaches, stops at the line of the heterosexual family, and destructively excludes them.

I will not be silent.

P.D., JAY V SHORE