Breathe

It's been three weeks since we've met and lost Declan. Most days I just fake that I am coping better than I am. Fred is doing the same, I know as we've discussed it. We remind ourselves that we have two beautiful children depending on us, but getting up every morning is like scaling a mountain of grief for us both. We avoid most phone calls since nothing anyone says comforts us. We know everyone cares about us and doesn't know what to say, but hearing things like, "it wasn't meant to be", "there was something wrong with the baby," "things happen for a reason," and even my very own father said, "it was probably best for your health." I want to rip people's faces off, but I quietly take it in and try not to judge.  Most days I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs, "Tell me, what is that good reason" or   "Don't you know our world has stopped?" Yet the world continues like nothing has changed at all, but our world is upside down. I can't breathe most moments. I am filled with a feeling of grief that I will never be whole again. How could have this have gone so wrong?  I retrace every step, trying to find something I did wrong. We have our official doctor's appointment on Monday, but I pretty much know what they are going to say. We've seen most of the reports already. Nothing was wrong with Declan. It was a fluke. A statistical anomaly. Story of my life. From conceiving Declan to the demise. For now we just pretend to live. Inhale, exhale. Fred goes to work. Inhale, exhale. Take the kids to the school and the park. Inhale, exhale.  I pray that no one notices how flat my stomach is and asks. Inhale, exhale. And so it goes. How long? I wonder, but now I just concentrate on breathing.