The Wound That Doesn't Heal

It's been almost 11 months since we lost our son. Eleven months since our world changed forever. People often ask me if it's any "better" now. I hate that question. I never know how to answer it. Losing a child isn't an injury. It isn't an illness. It's.... well, it's in a category all its own. And it doesn't ever get better. It is a permanent wound that will never heal.
Each day as a grieving parent brings new tests and challenges to face. There is no preparing for them. They hit you like a punch to the gut, and you are forced to deal with them on the spot. Things that used to seem so innocuous, like grocery shopping, doing laundry, etc are now reminders of what you lost.
Simple conversations are riddled with bullets to the chest. People talking about their children and grandchildren brings up painful memories and longing for what could have been.
Meeting new people invites the standard "Do you have kids?" questions that stop me in my tracks. How do I answer that? If I say yes, they will expect a follow up of information. Age, sex, etc. Then I have to explain that our son is no longer alive. Can you say awkward and uncomfortable? But if I say no, I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like in one simple word, I've denied 18 years of life. Like he never existed. There is no easy answer. Most of the time I just try and change the subject and hope they don't notice.
Daily life as a grieving parent is an obstacle course of emotions. Some obstacles you learn to maneuver, and others will certainly trip you up.
We are not the same as we were before the accident. There is no way we could be. Things that once brought happiness, now are shadowed by pain. For example, baby announcements... I love babies. I used to get beyond excited when friends and family were bringing new life into our world. And don't get me wrong, I am still happy, but I am also heartbroken. It's like the emotions are battling inside of me, and I never know which one will win.
Every party and event is just one more thing our son is missing from. It's difficult to celebrate when all you want to do is break down. But you can't stop participating in life, either. Because if you do that, you feel guilty. When you lose a child, you feel an obligation to live on for them. So when you quit doing things, or give in to the depression, you are in some way doing them a disservice. Yet when you smile and laugh, you feel guilty that they cannot. That is another constant struggle.
So does it "get better"? No. It gets different. The pain is constant. You think of your child 24 hours a day. The initial shock of losing them may be gone, but the emptiness and sadness remain. They become a part of you. They effect everything you do, and every part of who you are. You try to find some kind of balance in your new normal, but it isn't easy. Emotional triggers are everywhere, all the time.
The rest of the world moves on, but we are trapped in this awful time warp. Each night reliving that moment, and each morning, remembering anew your loss. Such is the life of a grieving parent. This is our journey.