This broken heart

Is it possible to die of a broken heart?  I feel like I might be doing just that.  My whole body aches.  It is 4 am.  I have been up for hours, thinking about my baby.  It started innocently.  I woke up to go to the bathroom.  I got back into bed and stretched my legs.  Then I thought about Maxie stretching his little chubby legs on the changing table.  Getting a good stretch in!  Oh my lord!  It is too much.  I am so sad.  My heart aches and I can't stop thinking about him.  Was this really my destiny?  Was this his?  Can't be.  I know I am going to wake up from this nightmare soon and find out that my baby didn't really die.  It was a hoax.  Then, when the pranksters bring him back to me, I will be SO grateful and happy for the rest of my life.  But, I was at the funeral.  I spoke at the funeral.  I wore a black dress and hugged hundreds of people after they lowered his tiny coffin into the ground.  I stood in my mom's living room afterwards and stared at the slideshow of photos of his very short life.  I put out cold cuts every night in my own kitchen during shiva.  I tried to make visitors feel welcome in my home and made small talk about things I wasn't really interested in.  Sometimes I wish I could rewind and instead of smiling and making people feel welcome, I wish I had let the mascara run down my face while I screamed "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO US?".  The grief is more than I can bear.  It is all I think about.  Max is all I think about.  So, if it is possible to die of a broken heart, I am surely doing just that.  But, it is a SLOW death.  It is a death that is ripping one more little piece of my soul away every single day until, hopefully, one day I won't have to bear it anymore...because I will be with him.

Read a good post yesterday about grieving from another momma who knows just how totally terrible this all is:

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