Numbness subsides

Adrenaline is gone, endorphins disappear, and all that is left is the sharp pain of reality.

You go into practical mode in the hospital. We get from home to Chicago to the hospital and through each step of the process. We function on autopilot, because it is easier to do so. We are pragmatic in our approach, and almost emotionless - just going through the motions and loving on Jack whenever we can. Why? Because we cannot bear to see our child going through it and cannot possibly comprehend or process what is taking place.

Once we get back to life, back to our routine, it hits. We talked about it tonight, on the way to get groceries - the utmost in mundane acts. We ask the questions, are rational and thoughtful and practical in the hospital. We absorb the information and accept it. It is when we get home that things are allowed through that exterior shell that protects us, and Jack, from being hysterical parents flooded with raw emotion.

While we are there, it is about Jack - entirely. Tears don't help him. We advocate, we act, we participate, but we do not feel. We cannot feel.

Tonight - it hurts like hell.