I’m obsessed with Hamilton.

Truly.

I saw it for the first time 2 years ago, and I still frequenly listen to the soundtrack. Whenever I need to tackle the chore of the mountain of laundry, I listen to Hamilton.

Going into show, I knew some of the storyline. Essentially, I knew there was rapping and that Aaron Burr shot Hamilton.

But there was one part I wasn’t prepared for:

Hamilton’s son dying.

Perhaps it was due to the incredible cast pulling you into the story, but I found myself sobbing in the 4th row of the Rodgers Theater as Angelica sung “It’s Quiet Uptown” to the audience.

Although it had been 9 years since I last held my firstborn, the sting of grief caught me completely off guard, and joined me as I watched the remainder of the play.

Grief can be so sneaky.

Normally, I can usually brace for the pain or deflect with humor to protect my heart, but sometimes it strikes out of nowhere.

This time, it got me.

As much as I try to protect myself, the pain stung as the “unimaginable” was described.

Unfortunately, I have experience the “unimaginable.”