Band aids don't fix bullet holes

Forgive me for using a Taylor Swift lyric as my title, but it stuck out to me on my drive in to work this morning.  Right now I feel like I have a huge, gaping wound in the middle of my chest and a sign that points to my uterus that reads "vacant".  I remember this feeling from before: Trying to walk around with a plastered on fake smile, trying to pretend our baby and my grief doesn't exist.  We're being extremely open about this loss but it doesn't make the day to day any easier.   The world moves on quickly but I can't.  So I have to put that smile on my face and pretend.  Fake it to make it.  The truly terrible thing is that I know the smile will become easier to maintain, it will even become genuine again.  It's not fair that I know this, it's not fair that this is my third time walking this stupid path.  I want a new path.