One of the reasons I’ve enjoyed this whole blog thing is that it creates a kind of record of my experiences and feelings. Which has been a bit embarassing the past few days as I’ve reread posts about the twins and seen the denial and wishful thinking therein, which will likely end tomorrow. So I’m hesitant to write more and invite more future embarassment. On the other hand, I get really panicky when the time comes when all of my to-do’s are crossed off and I stare Yet Another Medical Appointment I’d Rather Avoid straight in the eye, so writing seems like a nice procrastination.
It’s been a crazy couple of days. I’ve cried a lot, and felt empty, and wept for my children, and cried out to God, and done drywall, and picked up sticks in the yard. I taught my course for four hours, and then felt the blood rush back into this new and painful part of my life. I go to sleep sad, and wake up happy. Until I remember. I guess they call that ‘shock’.
‘Bargaining’, too. Maybe the results are a mistake, or maybe some miracle has happened, or maybe it’s only these three anomalies, and nothing further. Maybe I’m dreaming this, or I’m making it up. When people say “everything will be alright,” I desperately want to believe them.
Oh, and ‘anger’. I haven’t had my big blast yet (though I’m sure it’s coming…), but I’ve felt some stirrings. I was parking the car in the driveway, and just as I slid the truckster into ‘Park’, my brain started reeling. It spun through my whole mental Rolodex of Everyone I Know, trying to find a someone who could fix this. Or maybe someone who knew someone who could make it all better. And the damned thing kept spinning, because no one can fix this. God can, and he could. He might have already. Or he could have kept it from happening, I suppose. I don’t want to be mad at God, but who else can I be mad at? He’s the only one who can fix it. And I thought, man, it really stinks to be God. You get blamed for everything when you’re God. It hardly seems fair.
One thing I know: it is great comfort to not feel alone. To know that there are people around me (in proximity, or in prayer, and always in solidarity) to share the load. People who seem to love these kids as much as I do.