There is no way to know how to act, feel or think when your child dies. It's not something you are prepared for. There is nothing I do during the day that I don't see Chase in my mind. Nothing. We all pile into the car and I turn around to back out.....he should be there. I go to somewhere with lots of kids....there should be one more little one here. We sit down for supper.....he should be there. We go play at the river....he should be in my bjorn. I take a shower....I should have already bathed him tonight. We go to bed....he should be in his crib.
I am walking around with a hole in my heart. I feel like it's a third eye, some people see it, some people don't. I wish for anonymity...it makes me hate my small town.
There is no script. For anyone. I loathe the awkwardness. People see you with a smile and think, "I thought she'd be sad." People see you sad and think, "she's not doing very well." People see you and wonder when you had the baby, and you tell them, "he didn't make it." There is not much anyone can say in any conversation about anything that I don't think about Chase a thousand times. I can relate everything to the baby who is supposed to be in my arms.
And I get angry. I get angry to a degree you can't fathom. I get angry at people, I get angry at decisions, I get angry at Chase's demise. And what am I supposed to do? Chase is gone. There is nothing that will bring him back.