When Real is Surreal . . .

Have you ever been in a situation or an environment where it just seemed surreal?  It's such an odd feeling.  You almost want to pinch yourself just to make sure it's really you who is experiencing it.  Or you wonder if it's just a dream you're about to wake up from.  It can happen in various situations and it can accompany a host of different emotions.

Sometimes it comes with excitement.

I remember the feeling when I held my oldest son, Samuel, for the first time.  I just could not believe we had come to the hospital as a couple and would leave as a family.  I remember holding him for the first time in the nursery.  I was in my operation room garb and was rocking him in the rocking chair.  I remember looking down at him in amazement.  So many emotions flooded my heart all at once.  I was joyful, humbled, full of love and terrified all at the same time.  I felt the same sort of feeling the day I got engaged to Amy.  I also felt it on our wedding day.
It was surreal.  I wanted to pinch myself just to make sure I was really there.

Although not as powerful, I felt that surreal feeling the first time I saw the Grand Canyon as a teenager. It was so big and so incredible.  I was in awe.  It just didn't feel real.  I remember being in Busch Stadium to watch the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series on the way to winning the World Series.  I remember sitting there and thinking, "I can't believe I'm actually here!"

Sometimes that feeling comes with pain.

It can come when you break a bone, sprain a ligament or get a gash in your skin.  We can all remember with great vividness our most significant physical injury.  You feel like the injured area isn't even part of your body anymore.  It's an odd feeling.  It's surreal.  But it's the emotional injuries that really make us want to pinch ourselves.

It comes when the "love of your life" tells you it's over.  It can come when your parents inform you that their marriage isn't going to make it.  It can come when you learn that your best friend has stabbed you in the back.  It can come when you hear the word "cancer."  It can come when you learn of the death of a close friend or family member.  It comes when you experience something so painful that it just doesn't seem real.  "This just can't be happening to me.  This happens to other people, not me."

Every time I make my way to Thomas' grave I get that feeling.  It's so surreal.

"I'm heading up to the grave," I'll say.  I'll never get used to uttering those words.  I get in the car and the entire way to the cemetery (about 3 minutes in total) I find myself in disbelief.  My heart is pounding the whole way.  I'll never get used to that drive.  It will never become "normal" to me.  I want to pinch myself just to see if it's real.  I pull up to the cemetery and spot his grave.  My heart is still pounding.  Seeing his grave will never make sense to me, let alone become normal.  I still sit there and stare in disbelief.  I really don't know what else to do.  Sometimes I pray.  Sometimes I ask God, "Why?"  Sometimes I thank God for seeing us through these dark times.  Sometimes I talk to Thomas. I feel weird doing it, but I really don't know what to do when I'm there.

In some ways his grave site has become like another room in our home, but in some ways it feels like it's a million miles from nowhere.  Some days I want to stay there, read a book and hang out . . . because it's the closest we'll get to him this side of heaven.  Some days I can't stay more than a few seconds . . . because my son's lifeless body is just a few feet underground.  Some days I'm so at peace when I'm there.  Other days it's devastatingly painful.

I could visit his grave everyday for the rest of my life and it will never become routine.  It's just surreal.  There's no other way to put it.  I'm still waiting to wake up and find out it's all a dream. I'm waiting on someone to pinch me.