Disconnected

I realized this morning how disconnected I feel. At least I think that's what it is. I read the journal that Tod is keeping here and the comments people are leaving. They move me, but they move me as a disconnected bystander. I see pictures of Connor and pause longer than I would have in the past, but I don't feel the full weight of what has happened. I linger longer in the precious moments that occur everyday with my girls, but not longer than other people who never knew Connor and have been moved by our families tragedy. Like my sister Lee Ann I want to embrace the sadness, but I push it away at the same time.

I'm just so tired.

It was only three weeks ago that we found out Stephanie was pregnant. We were in shock. We were not planning on having another baby. Because of our history with miscarriages, we wanted to keep the news to ourselves (we agreed to tell one friend each) until we heard a heart beat. We figured our family didn't need any more bad news. Our fears turned out to be well founded. We lost the baby on Friday. It's only been three weeks, but it's amazing how quickly you get used to the idea of having another one. We planned and prayed and cried and laughed and lost. Again.

Yesterday on my way home from church I heard a discussion on the radio about names for babies. As I listened I caught myself thinking about what we would name this third child. It was like I had missed the events of the weekend. Disconnected.

I don't know how one willingly connects with that kind of pain and anger. But I fear that if I don't, it will reveal itself later in unhealthy ways. It was everything I could do not to lay into the lady working the drive-thru at KFC yesterday because I thought the price they were charging for a Pepsi was highway robbery (which it is by the way, but I knew that going in).

I've been told it is possible to mourn in a healthy way. I sense that there is no alternative; I have to journey through the pain. But everything in me wants to run away and hide. Escape. Disconnect.