See you in heaven, Judah

My baby died a couple of days ago.  It was a boy.  His name was Judah.  We knew our next boy was going to be "Judah" for the last four years.  It stands for going ahead of the battle with a song of praise.  I know that is what God wants me to do now.  I'm not so far, to be honest.  I was almost three months along.  He was so tiny and so perfect.  I picked him up and made a little blankie and wrapped him up.  I held him until the doctor at the hospital took him away.  His hands were this big: O, with perfect fingers.  He had all his fingers and toes, and he was so perfect.  Every time I close my eyes, he is all I can see.  But I don't feel anything, I haven't cried, I haven't felt anything at all.  Well, I cried for a minute when I wrote my Facebook status.  And my eyes filled up today when I found that a little pillow one of my boys had made last month for his unborn sibling had been moved from its place.  I gave my boy a hug and said, "Do you want to save this pillow in case we have another baby?"  He looked at the floor and shook his head no.  I asked "Do you want to keep this pillow as a memory of your little brother?"  He started crying and nodded yes.  So I gave him a big hug, then put the little pillow by his pillow on his bed.  I want to help my boys grieve, and I want to be there for them, but I feel so empty myself.  I still feel like I'm in shock or something.  It happened three days ago.  Today, I have been re-organizing my house, and putting our newly-acquired baby stuff way under the stairs for long-term storage.  I'm going to finish painting our house (which I had to stop when I found out I was pregnant) and I'm going to clean.  I don't know what else to do.