saying it doesn't get easier

As time passes, some things get easier.  Saying he is gone just doesn't.  I was in my home office working this afternoon when I got a random call from IHC.  The caller explained that she was conducting their maternity care follow-up survey, and so I began tentatively answering the interviewer's question, not sure where this call was going.  She asked my delivery date, what type of delivery, where I delivered, what we named our baby, etc.  Then she asked how much he weighed at birth.  I answered 3 1/2 lbs.  She was surprised and asked how he is doing and if he was in the NICU.  I could barely manage through my sudden rush of tears to choke out 'he passed away a few hours after he was born.'  The interviewer was sweet, offered her condolences and apologized for not knowing before her call, then kindly said she would just close the interview and not finish the questions.  I managed a barely audible 'thank you,' and we hung up the phone.  I sat there and just cried.  For some reason I can think of him and the joy we had holding him, I can wistfully wish he was here, I can talk about him, tell his story, compare his red hair and cute features to my other kids in conversation, and talk to my kids about him and not fall apart most of the time. Having to admit he is gone, having to say it out loud, having to feel by eyes burn and well with tears as I tell a new person that I lost my baby, that part just doesn't get easier.