Is this what a heart attack feels like?

Today I mustered up the courage to bring Quinton to a new daycare for a couple hours. He didn't cry when I left him or think twice about running outside to play with the others kids as I went to leave. I was very thankful his reaction was good because lately he screams any time I leave a room. He was only there for a couple hours and right as I was leaving to go get him I got a call from his daycare lady. He got bit by her dog and I arrived a minute or two later to see my baby with a big gash on his forehead. I'm not sure how to feel about it. I can't blame her really, and I was well aware there were two dogs there that have never bitten anyone until now. The thing that is making my heart feel like it's going to explode is knowing that my 3 year old is sitting in the exact same emergency room that Boston died in exactly two weeks ago. Two weeks ago at this time I was 54 minutes away from devastation suddenly roaring into my life, and now it won't leave.
I really hate it when people say "God gives the toughest battles to his strongest soldiers." Can I just be weak then? I don't want to do this. I don't want anymore tough battles. I don't want the ones I've already been given either. God, the universe, or whoever or whatever it is causing tragedy in my life can gladly just take it back and return my children to me happy, healthy, and in one piece. If only wishful thinking was enough to bring Boston back...

Left Behind

"Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight"

I have been listening to this song often over the last few days because it is one of the few things that has spoken to my soul since my son passed away 11 days ago. I am so lost. How is someone supposed to figure out how to go on with life after losing the reason behind everything they do? I am so thankful to have my wonderful 3 year old, Quinton. He is the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am stuck at the very start and though I know there is a light far in the distance, I do not know how to bring myself to walk towards it, and in many ways I don't want to. I do not want to accept that this is now my life. I do not want to accept that I have to figure out how to live without Boston. I do not want to accept that Quinton no longer has his baby brother that he loved so dearly to watch over. I don't want any part of this. I want MY baby. I should be sitting at home with my two amazing children, tired from a long day at work and not enough sleep because my Bosty loved to eat numerous times throughout the night. One of the hardest things is realizing that life goes on. Before actually losing a child, I thought that if anything ever happened to either one of them that my life would be over, that I could not live without them and would somehow disappear from earth, but here I am living and breathing and it hurts. I miss him so much that every particle of my being literally physically hurts. Why me? Why my son? I would never wish this pain upon anyone but why is there so many evil people on this earth who still get to wake up everyday? Why is there people out there who don't take care of their children, abuse them and neglect them, but my son who was so loved and well taken care of not spared his life? WHY? It is truly devastating to know that I will never have the answer to this question. I pray that the people that know of my situation choose to hug their children tighter, love them even more than they already do, and never take a single day for granted. Being a parent is hard, but it's much harder to be one when your child is not physically with you to love and take care of. 

One week.

Where are you? In a literal sense I know the unbearably painful answer to this question. My 2 month olds ashes are sitting by his picture above the fireplace. But where is he? Where is my sweet smiling Bostys spirit? Is he alone? Is he scared? Can he see me? Can he hear me talking to him? Hear me play his favorite song? Does he miss me? Does he know that I am his mom? Is he with god? Has he seen his great great grandparents? Where are you Boston? Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong? Was I not good enough to be your mom?

I have replayed my sons 68 days on earth over and over and over in my head trying to pin point what exact moment, what exact thing happened that decided his fate. I have heard stories and read of people who have lost their infant children and recall thinking how truly terrifying and sad it would be, but before 3:04 pm on March 17th 2015 losing a child was a far off fear, something that only happens in the most awful of nightmares to other parents, not to me. Now it is me. I am the mom in the nightmare who received news her baby was not breathing. I am the mom that was frantically driving to the hospital screaming "Please let my baby be okay. I will do anything, just let HIM be okay." I am the mom who was told "Your son is very sick right now, his heart stopped beating." I am the mom who clung to her baby's limp hand while doctors tried to resesitate him. I am the mom that had to be told her son could not be saved.

 Today marks one week since my son passed away. One week since I fed my baby a bottle, one week since I put him in his car seat to take him to daycare, one week since I kissed his fat cheeks, one week since I changed his diaper, one week without my son, one week into the nightmare that is now my life.