We had to walk away from Dylan's grave and those steps were some of the hardest I have ever taken. Jason stayed right by my side and we sort of held on to each other as we walked away. Later we talked about how awful it was and how much we wanted to just stay with him, even though rationally we both knew he was gone.
In the weeks following his death, I spent a lot of time at home. It was hard to go anywhere, partly because other people's comments cut through me (I had several people ask me if I was pregnant or when are you due?) and partly because I was also waiting for a phone call that never came. Since I could not rationalize his death, I partly convinced myself that it had all been a terrible mistake. I used to imagine getting a telephone call from the hospital saying it had all been some sort of a mix up. I had the entire conversation worked out in my head including my forgiving response. First I had to let Dylan go and then I had to let this fantasy dissipate as well.
