Emotional Reading

I have been reading a lot lately... well a lot for me. And I don't know if it is helping or hurting.  On one hand I am happy to see that there are others I can relate with.  On the other, the pain of irritating the wound is great.  I have never cried while reading a book before, until last night. 

I am delicate and fragile lately.  I am feeling lonely, sad and isolated.  I am feeling the burn of the pain each and every day the past weeks.  And yet still, the vail of disbelief has not entirely lifted.  I still can not believe this happened, and happened to me.  Despite the physical scar, the many trips to the cemetery, and the hours spent there, it seems unreal and dream like.  To look at her picture, is to look at a dream that once was.  And as much as she feels like a part of me, I feel a distance and an absence.  Is she mine? Did she exist? I know in my mind that she was and she did.  But, the reality is my life is not rule entirely by logic.  The emotional and abstract part of my being, the same side that make me care deeply for those I love, simply can not believe, or perhaps except, this has happened.  My daughter is gone before I even had her.  Had I known, I would have consciencely cherished those 33 weeks that we did have. 

Now, a new challenge, moving on.  Not with 'life', but our family.  Where do we go from here? The decision to have or not have more children is a tough one.  I feel like I am on a teeter-totter, going back and forth on how to proceed. And that is just how I feel.  There is another component to the equation, Thad.  I image in the come months, this will be the new challenge we will face. And I will have to figure out, do I try again?