I am not prepared.

Tomorrow I go back to work. I am nervous for a long list of reasons. It doesn't feel right in the sense that going back means this is it. This is the start to my "new normal." I feel like in the back of my mind I have been living on this hope that someone, anyone, was going to call me or come to my door and tell me that this has all been some huge mistake and give me back my son. I know I cannot live in denial forever or hang onto irrational hopes that Boston is coming back because he's not. My baby is really gone. I've read quite a few stories and articles about the stages of grief that parents go through after losing a child, the first one is typically shock. Your body and mind go into some weird prolonged state of it, attempting to make sense out of an overwhelmingly difficult situation and giving your emotions some much needed time to catch up. This is very true in my situation. I have been holding onto all of these little things to get myself through a day. At first, the day he died, I held onto the fact that I was still going to see my son. Not that it was comforting knowing he would be in a casket, but I still got to see him, he still physically existed. The day after his visitation was his funeral. His dad and I got to spend time alone with him before the service started and I once again could at least look at my child right there in front of me, rearrange his blanket the way that he liked it, and play him his favorite songs. It may seem odd to some people, but at his visitation and funeral I stood by his casket the entire time and ran my fingers over his face, hands, stomach, toes, legs, and hair. I tried to memorize every single part of him knowing that it would be the last time I would ever have the chance to. During his funeral service after they had closed his casket, I held onto the fact that he was still there just a few feet away from me, but at the very least still physically there. I picked up his ashes the following Monday. It was harder for me to find things to hold onto after this, but in general I have clung tightly to the fact that this is all still new, that at this point I still had my son for longer than he has been gone, that I still come across his things in random places, that my memories of him are still fresh and that I have not yet had to go out into the real world, the one that does not revolve around the fact that he just passed away. I am not ready for my day to consist of anything but mourning the loss of my son, however, I know that whether I go to work tomorrow for the first time or wait six more months, it will be the same awful slap in the face from reality reminding me that no matter how much I wish the world would have stopped for him, it didn't.