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sadness, inability to function, and desire to make all the pain stop. I do. I
wish I had it captured- for me, for

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Teddy, for those that may ever read this
in the same position. My son died. He’s gone. I carried his dead body and
kissed his cold cheeks as I placed him on an adult sized stretcher at a funeral
home- and I left him there. There is no way to prepare yourself for that. That
final good-bye, knowing you failed to protect the only thing in life that has
ever mattered to you, knowing that your heart left in that little body and there is never a way to get it back. But in all honesty, I’m not sure I could
have talked about this a month ago- or written. Not sanely anyways.

And one of my biggest fears in talking about it is that they
would lock me up- put me in a padded room with no shoe-laces or belt. Cause
apparently everyone and their mother has an ethical responsibility to report
someone if they feel like they are a danger to themselves. Well really- has
your child died? Have you planned a funeral for a baby who embodied every

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hope
and dream you ever had? Do you stay up all night wishing a baby that isn’t
there anymore is going to start crying for you? Do you have to deal with the
guilt of being here everyday when all you want is to be with you child? Do you
spend your free-time kissing a head stone in a cemetery? Probably not. So I
have the right to be crazy- to wish I wasn’t here- to wish Teddy and I were
together again so that I could kiss

him 23 times before I put him to

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bed,
tickle him to hear the most beautiful sound in the world, or place my hands
around his boney body and let him soar through the room like he always loved,
like my super hero baby. But I don't get
to do any of that. Instead I have to wake up to a feeling of emptiness that I
never knew existed. I have to look at my husband- and know that even though he
says nothing, part of him is dead too. We are both dead inside- what a
combination.

When Teddy was dying everyone was around. Family was
everywhere, sleeping on any open surface, food was coming and going, Teddy
stories were being told. But he was still in my arms. I could still rub his
legs and touch his kinky but perfect hair, and kiss him whenever I wanted. Then
he passed…everyone went home, Teddy was lying on a stretcher at Campbells
funeral home, and it was just Alex and I. No more kisses, no more

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noise, just
the silence of emptiness, tears, and this overwhelming feeling of breathing,
existing, living another day when it didn’t seem to matter anymore. And just as painful was watching things return
to “normal” for people. Everyone went back to work, even myself. But life moves
on, right? Fuck no. There is no way for my life to move on. I wake up every
morning and I pray I can function long enough to get in my car and arrive at
work. From there it just becomes the pressure of appearing normal and keeping
it together. But some days I can’t make
it out of the shower, some days I can’t even make it to the shower. Cause my
baby is gone and I could take an hour long shower and no one would notice, no
one would need me, no one would be crying on the other end. I just want to rush
through my shower, I want to throw on whatever just so that I can hold my
nugget, make his food bag, give him his shot and

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medicine, dress him in his
comfy-casual clothes, spike his hair, put on his cream, and dance with him in
front of the mirror just to see that huge smile light up. I just want to see it
one more time…please. I just want my house to be full of feeding pumps,
breathing machines, and Teddy supplies- not the current shrine to a baby that I
lost. I currently have nothing to do- Alex is still sleeping and it’s 8am. This
is miserable. This is the meanest existence. You can’t give someone the
greatest thing in the world and take it away…leaving them with nothing. This is
nothing to us. I’m living my worst fear in life- probably yours too. I played
the biggest hand and I lost. So lock me up if you want.