Sometimes I find myself staring at the floor across the room as if waiting to see him come crawling toward me. I wake up in the middle of the night and sit up in bed thinking I hear him chattering to himself, wanting a bottle. I get random shooting pains in my right side and right elbow, where he was always cradled while I went about my day. I avoid friends with babies his age, crowded public places, and even eye contact because I fear I’ll cry if anyone looks right at me. I immediately look away if anyone asks me how I’m doing, both unable and unwilling to verbalize the extent of it. I have flashbacks, experiencing the trauma over and over. My legs get weak, I break into a cold sweat, my head aches, I even still feel my heart pound and stomach drop just as it did when I found him. I have “grief attacks” that leave me physically sick, even the next day. I am not just experiencing the extreme grief of his death, I am battling PTSD as a result of the traumatic way Sloan died/was found. It’s a long road to some form of “normal”, a healing process that will take a lifetime. This is life after losing a child.