Feeling Bad About Feeling Better

My heart and my head are so full this morning but I am running out of time before work. Having to go to work at a time like this is just . . . dumb. (I was going to say "lame" but I don't think I will be using that term for a while now . . .)

Thank you once again for the e-mails and phone calls of encouragement.

Some of our friends have put us in touch with other parents who have been through similar circumstances and that is a great and wonderful blessing.

Other friends have actually started doing research for little Annabelle in terms of where we might seek out the best care possible - it sounds like a call to the spina-bifida department at Children's hospital is a good place to start. Thank you Marci and Jessica!

You have all become Annabelle's own personal emotional support group and medical research department!

By the way, when you leave a comment on the blog it is forwarded to me as an e-mail but it does not contain a reply e-mail address so if you are not 100% sure that I have your e-mail address, please include it in your comment - that way I can get back in touch with you.

And YES, Polly, we would love any info that you have. You can e-mail me at mattlinden@msn.com.

It hasn't happened to me yet. The great unravelling. The coming apart at the seems and collapsing in an uncontrollable heap.

It makes me wonder if it ever will. I suppose it will happen sooner or later.

I think it is because the wife has been grieving pretty hard and it makes me want to be there for her.

I think it is also because I have not been alone all week. When I am at home, the wife is there - when I am at work I am surrounded by people. My commute is only 15 min so it is not long enough to really build up a full head of emotional steam. Its not like me to let loose in full-throated grief with others around . . .

The wife and I had our first dis-connect two nights ago. I was at the point where I just could not talk about it or think about it anymore. I felt like my head was going to explode. I just needed a break. A diversion. Some television.

The wife really needed to talk and I couldn't muster it. I told her that I was all out of words for the time being and I just didn't want to talk about it for one evening. I am a man of many limitations.

I felt like a heel.

I feel like the initial shock is coming to a close. I no longer find myself wandering down the hall at work for no apparent reason. I have mostly stopped walking over to the fax machine with nothing in my hand to fax. I rarely find myself staring into space and wondering how long I have been there. My eyes are welling up with tears only every hour or two.

I makes me feel bad.

You spend all this time praying for strength and for courage and when you get it - you feel guilty.

"If you really cared about your daughter you would be bawling in a fetal position 24/7".

Well, maybe. But it's pretty hard to get on the phone and Internet and research medical programs if you are bawling on the floor in the fetal position . . .

Yesterday I laughed at a comment a co-worker made. Not a chuckle. A big hearty guffaw.

And then I stopped. "This is no time for laughter. Don't you even care about Annabelle?" jumped into my head.

And don't get me started on how it feels when 5 minutes pass and I realize that I didn't spend the last 5 minutes consumed with thoughts of the wee one.

Of course this is a time of grief and unimaginable pain and all-consuming thoughts concerning medical procedures etc. But we all know that already.

This is also a time for laughter and a time for thinking about other things occasionally.

The wife and I were standing on the back deck watching the dawg tear around the yard in a runnin' fit and she commented something to the effect, "I want our life to be beautiful. I want to always enjoy the simple beauty in life and to enjoy our life to the fullest. Regardless of the outcome. We cannot let this situation steal our joy."

So there it is. This is a time of pain. A time of grief. A time to wage all-out war in an effort to help our daughter. But let us not forget - we are happy warriors.

It is the ability to smile, to laugh, to continue to find beauty even in this, the darkest of times that helps make us strong.

Annabelle deserves warrior parents who (again in the words of Winston Churchill) will "never, never, never quit". But she also deserves happy parents who will help her to see the beauty in the world for what it is - a true gift-of-God-miracle.

Just like she is.

I can't wait to hear what Annabelle's uncontrollable laughter sounds like . . .