It's like a wave washes over me and I'm right back at square one, crying and wondering why. I can feel it coming, and I know there's nothing I can do to stop it. So I lock myself in the bathroom and take a long shower and cry. Or I curl up in the bed and cry with my back to whoever may be lying beside me. Or I send Sam and Steve out to play baseball so I can come here, type out my feelings, and cry. I've become a master at not crying in front of anyone.

And I think I'm doing so well, being so sneaky...and then Sam looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes and asks out of nowhere, "Mommy, are you sad?" It's like he can sense the wave is coming too, despite my attempts to shelter him from it. It's like he knows that things will never be quite the same again. And I'm even more sad that he has to deal with that. I don't want to cheat my beautiful living son out of a happy childhood because I'm sad about my angel baby.

So I continue to fake it for now, crying only in my private moments, and trying to at least hold the wave back enough so that it only laps at Sam's toes...rather than swallowing him whole like it's doing to his mommy.