Unexpected

If I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned—if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods, who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely to have my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese of life?" - from The Open Boat, by Stephen Crane

If I am going to be honest, this has been the way I've thought about the miscarriage. When I think about the miscarriage, that is, which I try really hard not to do.

I expected, when I left Birmingham, to be sad about leaving Georgia and Stephanie. I expected to be relieved to rent out the house, to be excited about the new opportunity, to be tired of being company, to get tired of eating out, to have to adjust to being around people again ... this is what I expected. What I didn't expect was to drive past the hospital where I would have (should have!) delivered, and think, my life was almost so different. I didn't expect to feel as though I was leaving that behind, too - the possibility, I guess, and the hope of another life.

I try not to think about the miscarriage because I don't like the questions that come up, and I know there really aren't any answers for them, and I don't want to hear the things people say when there really aren't any good answers. I am angry more than sad now, and when I think about it, I think, this wasn't supposed to happen. But if I stay angry, I'm going to miss the next thing. I won't get into the specifics in public, but if you believe in the Holy Spirit, email me and I'll explain this a little better ... It's enough to say that in a mediocre sermon last night, God pointed out to me that until I let this go, I can't do the next thing. I don't have to understand it, I don't have to like it. But as long as I'm here - just mad about it - I can't do what's next.

I wish it was as easy to accept that as it is to say it.