Good Friday...

is a bit of an ironic name for the day on which Jesus died on the cross. Esposo and I also found out about our son's HLHS on Good Friday...2 years ago. That Easter Sunday, my parents dragged my stunned self to church with them, thinking, I'm sure, that exposure to God's community would strengthen my spirit. Instead, it had the eerie effect of feeling like the entire service was mocking my situation...songs about "a baby born to die," Mary the mother weeping, outwardly whole and healthy families bouncing babies on their laps in my general pregnant direction...sigh.

I have not been to church since, with the exception of going to see a friend give a sermon at her Unitarian Universalist congregation.

Easter has always been a holiday of utmost spiritual importance for me, and the one day of the year I would make an absolute point to attend services. I haven't stayed away from church because I'm angry at God or anything like that...but going back to an Easter service just seems to weird, too surreal. I want to go, however...but I'm a little nervous. Not about the message, sermon, Biblical event...it's the memories of the songs and the families of that day two years ago that haunt me, by no fault of their own. Sigh.