The confusion is confusing!

The confusion is confusing. I don’t know what I expect from myself. On the days I don’t cry or mope around thinking of Logan I wonder if I’m denying my heart its right to feel the extraordinary pain I must feel over loosing my son. I say must because there are days when I don’t feel anything, when I don’t think about the sorrow, when I view Logan as a fact, only a fact, and not the heavy weight of the love and loss I have…but then out of nowhere, with out a conscious thought about him I start to ache and cry. Something small like the title of a book or an innocent comment (“She loves that cat like a child!” Uh-no she doesn’t.) And out of no where (although obviously it’s somewhere) I cry. I cry even before the thought crosses my mind. I am confused why there are days where I think of him as a fact, a cold hard fact. I talk about him like a fact. I was pregnant, I had a son, he was born dead and his name was Logan…the end. We all know that is not the end. Then I cried, forever. My heart broke a million times a day. But I find myself looking at pictures of myself pregnant, ultrasound pictures, my pregnancy journal and I don’t feel a thing. But I do, I must. Deep down in the recesses of the heart that I’ve come to commonly ignore; I miss my baby. I miss his kicking, I miss the anticipation and I miss the dreams I had for him. I miss my family of four. If I had only known. If I had known that my little boy would have such a short time here on this blasted planet I would have taken more pictures of my belly, regardless of how ugly I felt. I would have sat around with a heart beat monitor and memorized the sound of his little heart. I would have sung to him, I would have written down every kick, I would have talked to him and told him I much I loved him. I would have tried so much harder to appreciate being pregnant instead of moaning and groaning about every little ache and annoyance. I would have stayed awake at night to feel him roll around in my belly, instead of trying to sleep through my pregnancy to wake up one morning in May with a take home baby boy. I would have. But I didn’t. I have a lifetime of memories written down on a few pages, vague events that I didn’t pay enough attention to. But I am so confused as to why I can go days with out feeling the pain that I must have. And then BAM! I’m a sobbing mess. Crying and aching for an enigma. How can I feel so much for a little boy I barely knew? Those six short months, gone in such a flurry and leaving in their wake so few memories to cling to. And endless tears.