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.