I gaze out the window. Through the thick blinds, I see the slow dance of the ornamental grasses I planted last spring. If you stare at them long enough, their graceful waves will almost hypnotize you. Your eyelids flutter and slow, as you focus on their wispy plumes.
If you live long enough, you will love and be loved. You will feel your heart swell with the enormity of it. And somewhere along the line, you will almost surely get your heart broken.
There is a saying: No one can break your heart quite like a child can. There is a visceral truth in this. There is no more powerful love, no more painful a betrayal. Your heart could not feel any emptier. Than when your child has turned away.
Your heart stings when a lover betrays you. You think you will not ever feel joy again. You make a promise that you will never allow yourself to be that vulnerable again. But of course you probably will. Because the heart forgets the pain. Just as a mother forgets the pain of child birth. And chooses to do it again.
When you hold a baby in your womb, there is no more intimate a relationship. Your blood is their blood. Your heartbeat keeps theirs growing. You feel a tiny heel or elbow through the taut skin of your belly. And you can’t help but reach down to caress it. To tell the face you have not yet seen how much you love it.
Life is full of war and upheaval and tragedy and heartbreak. But methinks there is no greater heart break than when you have lost the love of a child, no matter their age. No matter the reason.
For in your minds eye, you can still remember that tiny foot kicking from the inside. Reminding you that you are, through an umbilical cord, little more than one. And that for a time, that tiny baby could not exist without you.
Until there comes a day, perhaps many years down the road, when anger replaces it. And you. The well of love has somehow gone dry. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Still, you remember. How can you not?