Actually, I Can Imagine

I can't imagine. I've been thinking about this expression lately. About how it's not a terrible thing to say to a friend in a terrible situation, but how it's not great either. Anyone with any degree of empathy probably CAN imagine...they just don't want to.

It's the 3-year-old version of "I can't."

Put on your shoes. I can't.

Wash your hands before supper. I can't.

Imagine having to decide whether your baby should live or die and then get an abortion at 25 weeks, after you've physically felt the life within your baby and watched your belly grow for him. I can't.

I just can't bear to do that. But I did. I had to. I mean, I had to decide whether Blue would live or die. I know that I didn't have to choose the abortion. My dad told me afterwards that had I chosen to let Blue live, my sadness would only have been delayed. Protracted. I was going to watch him die. At some point. And to think of that is fucking misery. And so I can't imagine.