I Just Feel.... Empty

As I sit down to write this post, I'm still not 100% sure I can even put it into words, let alone share it with the world. But I'm going to try, because this is my therapy. This blog is my couch and counselor. I've always sworn to be honest and real when I'm writing, and since this is something that has been weighing on me for some time, I feel compelled to release it, or it will most definitely eat me alive. 
So here goes...
Ever since losing Zach, I've discovered feelings that I never knew existed within me. Emotions that it has taken me quite some time to identify. Maybe they've always been there, just below the surface, but until recently, I couldn't quite put my finger on them.
Let me start at the beginning. Not too long before meeting my husband (Dan) I was diagnosed with some female medical issues. I won't get into the details, but after several procedures and doctors, I was essentially told that having kids was probably not going to be an option for me. It could happen, but the likelihood was low. At the time, I was 18 years old. Fresh out of high school, and the only future I was concerned with was the weekend ahead. I'm not even sure the news fully registered with me. I barely gave it another thought. Fast forward about a year, and I met Dan. This amazing guy that I instantly connected with. And if that wasn't awesome enough, he came complete with a miniature version of himself that I also fell head over heels in love with immediately. Zach was four years old, and damn near the perfect child. Sweet, funny, adorable, loving, and buckets of fun. Sure, we had challenges along the way, but he and I formed a bond that was stronger than anything I could ever have fathomed. By 20, I was living with Dan and Zach, and we were a regular family. I was even a stay at home mom. At this point, the idea of not being able to have kids was something that I had begun to think about from time to time. Especially when Zach would ask for a baby brother or sister multiple times a day. But aside from my medical issues, there was another issue with adding to our family. That was Dan. You see, Dan was a teenage father. Not the ideal situation by any stretch of the imagination. Add to that the fact that Zach's mother had a change of heart, and had all but abandoned him by the age of nine months, and the fact that Dan had very strong feelings about NOT having any more kids, well... it made sense. He had made it very clear, right from the beginning, that he was a one and done dad. Being only 19, and believing I couldn't have kids anyway, this wasn't a deal breaker for me. Besides, we already had a kid who we adored, so it wasn't like I'd never get to experience motherhood. 
Over the next 13+ years, we raised our son, and went about our lives. I won't say that I never thought about having kids, but it wasn't something I was dwelling on. I focused on the future, and figured I'd just be the most kick ass grandma someday. Zach had just graduated from high school, and we were helping him sort out his college plans. Then everything changed. 
On August 4, 2012, we said goodbye to Zach. Our only child, and our entire world. The emptiness that follows the loss of a child is something that has no comparison. My heart was shattered, and my soul was lost. I found myself yearning for something to fill the hole that losing my son had left in me. I knew, from talking to other grieving parents, and from my reading on the subject, that these feelings were normal. "Don't worry, they'll pass." I was told. 
It's been almost three years since losing Zach, and the feeling has only gotten worse. I've tried distracting myself with work, hobbies, and various activities, but nothing changes.
I'm 35 years old now. I've watched all my friends and loved ones grow their families. Baby after baby I've celebrated. Since losing my own child, each birth has been more painful than the last. Every pregnancy bringing with it anger and jealousy. And then to hear all the moms talk about motherhood to me as if I know nothing of the subject. As if I didn't watch my own child grow into a man, only to be stolen from me. But you know what.... they're not wrong. Because for all the experiences I do have as a mother, there are so many that I don't. I've never known the surprise and fear of finding out you're pregnant. Never felt and watched my body change, as I grew a person inside of it. Never seen the look of love on my husband's face as he felt his child kick for the first time. Never stressed over picking the right name, or what colors to paint a nursery. I've never felt the agony of childbirth, and the immeasurable joy of hearing your child cry for the first time. I've never fed from my breast, never stared into a brand new face, looking to see myself, and I've never been called "mommy". 
I've always thought of myself as someone who thrived on experiences. Of relishing, first hand, in all the ups and downs that life had to offer. But for one of the greatest, most amazing, powerful, and life changing experiences a person can have, I've never been more than a bystander. I've always had to live those moments vicariously through someone else. Before losing my son, I could accept that, because I had him. I had a future. I would watch my child grow, dance with him at his wedding, and all the extra motherly love I had in me would be bestowed upon my future grandchildren and great grandchildren. 
But that future is gone now. And my heart still has so much to offer, but nowhere to put it.
I see mothers with their children and my heart breaks anew. I hold my tiny nephew to my chest and I never want to let him go. I see my sister spoil her grandchildren and I wonder what that feels like, because I'll never know. 
At night, I dream of my son, and in many of them, he's holding a baby girl and smiling. He tries to give her to me, but I wake up before he can. I don't know what the dreams mean, but I know I wake up feeling even more empty and sad than when I fell asleep. 
Maybe it's my Grief causing these feelings. Maybe it's my biological clock screaming at me to do something before it's too late. Maybe it's a change in hormones. Maybe it's all of these things and more, I just don't know. Whatever it is, it fucking sucks, and I wish I knew what to do about it. 
But for now, I'll just keep trying to push forward and hope for the best.