The long anticipated crash...

Last night as I was driving home from my second 18+ hour day, I felt it coming on.

Tomorrow is Taylor's due date, so I'd been expecting it.  Plus, sleep deprivation and lonely roads tend to set the stage for sorrow.  It started with a thought that was trying to wedge it's way in that I was refusing to acknowledge it.  I turned the radio up a little and sang along.  The thoughts persisted.  I turned the radio up almost as loud as it would go and sang as loud as I could to songs I didn't really know the words too.

A loud radio won't always silence thoughts.

And the thought was a strange one.  When I was in the hospital for my surgery, my doctor was significantly less than supportive.  In fact, she was downright callous.  The nurses were better.  In recovery, I remember one of them took my hand, and said everything happened for a reason and she was sure she'd see my name in delivery this winter.  She was right, for two days, and now she's wrong again.

It's a simple thought, a short memory.  But it's funny how these things work and it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I gave in and turned the radio off and sobbed.  I sobbed for my precious Taylor and her too short existence.  I sobbed for the baby who should have been my winter baby.  I sobbed for me.  It lasted less than 5 minutes.  I thought I wasn't done, so I played myself a song that always makes me cry.  Nope.  I was done.  That was it.

So I turned the radio back on, and I kept driving.