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Broken-Open Hearts

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“The most remarkable thing about broken hearts is that they are also open hearts. Broken hearts are soft and malleable. The locks protecting broken hearts have fallen to the floor - they are left unguarded. Broken hearts are easy to enter. Where the broken parts have fallen away, there is open space. Nothing is held too tightly anymore. My broken heart allows me to see the way other’s hearts are broken too. I am developing more compassion as others suffering becomes clear to me. No matter how hard and unpredictable this path is, I want to keep sitting here with Grief.”  Anna Hodges Oginsky, My New Friend, Grief, Reflections on Loss and Life

Hearts are one of my talismans. Like butterflies and birds and flowers, the heart symbolizes everlasting love and continued life, and has come to stand as a comforting sign of my mother’s spirit. The paragraph above from Anna Oginsky’s book (My New Friend, Grief) spoke volumes to me as I continue learning about living with loss and the reformation it’s creating in my life.

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New Pathways

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I spent ever day last week surrounded by Youth. As I do every summer, I worked at a musical theater camp where there were 30 young people between the ages of 10 and 18, as well as a few “older” young people (in their early thirties). This is one of my favorite musical activities, but at the start of the week I was a little concerned about my ability to keep up with all the energy they were sure to exude. 

However, I discovered something wonderful about energy: it’s contagious.

Faith of Our Fathers

But today is one of those ubiquitous cultural days when fathers are the main topic of conversation. I’ve found myself thinking of my father quite often lately. Even though he and my mother had been apart for 20 years before he died in 2013, in my mind they are still inextricably linked. I think it has to be that way to some degree: after all, it was their partnership that created me and nurtured me to adulthood, that set me on my own particular course of life. They were my Parents.

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The Upswing

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Do you know the feeling you get when you’ve been sick with the flu, achy and shivering with fever, and then, miraculously, the fever “breaks,” and your chills turn to a warm, sweaty flush?
You open your eyes and see clearly for the first time in days. You can take a deep breath without collapsing into a barrage of coughing. You crave cinnamon toast or hot chicken soup. You want a hot shower and some clean clothes. 

That’s how I feel today. After the past week of suffering (“I am not mourning, I am suffering,” wrote French philosopher Roland Barthe about his mother’s death), today I am peaceful, even a little bit hopeful that life may one day resume it’s luster. I’m getting familiar with the drill, this wild ride of grief. Today is a good day. 

Perhaps it was the catharsis of writing yesterday’s post. 

Maybe it was planting flowers last night, the physical exertion of digging holes and placing the tiny plants into the ground, settling them into the soil and cupping it firmly around them.

It could simply be the healing warmth of summer sun, or the vastness of blue sky that today looks promising instead of punishing. 

Whatever the reason, I accept today's gift of equilibrium with gratitude.