Why do we call it a broken heart? Broken is something that you may chose to glue back together and carefully display again. Sometimes, you may simply decide to toss it away and find a replacement. You carefully pick up each piece, examine it and then take the time to determine if repairing it is worth it. If you chose to do the latter, the piece becomes whole again. Except for a few dings here and there or a sliver of a missing fragment, it comes alive again. My heart is beyond broken.
Shattered doesn’t seem to work either. Something that shatters isn’t easily repairable. Big unscathed pieces lie next to some that are so tiny, you cant make heads or tails of them. Shattered items must simply be swept up and discarded. Unseen fragments are usually hiding under nooks and crannies. Days or months later, when you unknowingly come across this forgotten piece, you simply toss it , forgetting that this piece once belonged to something you loved. Still, shattered does’t come close.
Could a heart be annihilated, disintegrated, or even demolished? Possibly, but these descriptions give the impression that where there was once something tangible, it is no more. What once was there, has now been obliterated into the atmosphere in a cloud of ash leaving only a dark hole behind. I can’t accept this. I fervently need what’s left of my incomplete heart. I need it not for the the obvious reason of continuing another day, but because I have other children that continue to engrave it with irreplaceable and magical moments of their lives. Memories of weddings, births, new jobs and great accomplishments live in there. There are grandchildren that everyday leave their tiny hand prints and goofy smiles embedded in it. There is a husband that still makes it skip a beat whenever he kisses me and loved ones that fill it with hope. I need my heart whole because there, is the only place my son now resides .
So, as I have slowly come to terms that even though my heart feels as if it is truly broken, or shattered , it is still whole and it continues beating inside my chest. I try to convince myself that it is not physically broken…there is no actual hole and no pieces are missing and yet the pain makes me think otherwise. Everyday is a struggle as my brain tries to comprehend these truths…that even though my heart is physically the same as it was 458 days ago, it will actually NEVER be the same.
There Is No Pain Than the Heartache of a Grieving Mother ….