It is no secret that I have a broken heart. Death has taken my lover, partner, and best friend rolled into one. These dimensions of my life once overflowing are now bone dry, and dust is collecting on every surface. When I search for him in my mind, I can no longer see him, hear him, or feel his familiar warmth. His smell cannot be found on his clothing because his body has not been in his favorite sweatshirts and ripped jeans for almost a year. My brain contorts inside my skull, and the veins at my temples bulge because I have forgotten to breathe through the moments of trying, unsuccessfully, to remember these fading wisps of his soul. When I squeeze my eyes tight shut, behind my eyelids the colors of us have faded to pale, and are now barely-there blurry movements without defined shape. Lately, my cheeks have been tingling. I think it’s from the blood emptied from my heart that now runs cold through me and can’t find a place that is comfortable under my skin. Death is laughing at me because at the moment, he has all of the leverage, he has him, and I have nothing.
If I continue down this path, Death will have my heart. That single ember left in it will plucked by Death’s greedy claws, and I will completely shut down. I won’t go without a fight. I refuse to let Death win. After loving my partner so hard, and having been forced to release him, all that love is now buried inside of me. It is hidden from Death, but it is surrounded by Grief’s child, Agony. Agony whispers to my hidden love, teasing it to show itself, even just a peek. My love is not to be played with by this insolent child. Agony taunts and teases me with an unblinking stare that makes my body tremble, half out of anger, half out of exhaustion. Smiling, Agony has taken away my appetite for food, there is no plate that has what I want to eat. My mouth has become dry, and even though my voice wants to sing a song to him, words can only be mouthed and my breath cannot hold the right tune.
Stepping forward now is Compassion, but her gift is a cruel joke to me. She offers for me to see him in the opposite space: in feeling and seeing his absence, he is in fact here. The kids and I went out to breakfast for Father’s Day at the restaurant that we all used to go to, he usually ordered the same thing: ‘T D Special’ of 2 eggs basted, hash browns, whole wheat toast, and gyro meat. Next to my son opposite me is the empty place at our table for four, the table in the corner by the front window. The very same table we last ate all together in this place. I couldn’t help but look at the empty seat now, and I wanted to see him sitting there, healthy with that devilish grin, his eyes telling me he’s thinking about me being naked and wrapped around him. These unspoken thoughts, even in front of the kids, he and I shared. Compassion, is this all that remains? This is a seat that will never be filled, and my acknowledgement of that makes Death and Agony very happy.
So what am I to do with this void if “the seat cannot be filled?” I look inside myself, and I ask why this bothers me so much, and I want to see this problem in a different light. I am seeking Truth. I close my eyes and I am in Central Park, walking along a paved path. I see Truth is sitting next to the father of Grief, Existence, on a worn out but sturdy bench. There is a low humming murmur between them, and they keep glancing over at me, in a half inviting, other half ‘you stink’ face way. I approach to better understand what they’re saying, standing off to one side of the path. I’m really tempted to sit on this rock I see next to the bench, but standing feels good at the moment. I have nervous energy in my legs and sitting still for too long gives me a cramp in my left foot. Suddenly, Truth and Existence turn to me at the same time, and our eyes meet. It’s a good thing I’m writing down what was said now, I don’t want to forget it.
The most surprising part of our conversation was that they spoke as one voice, and even though they did not speak my language, I understood them. After our introductory “hellos”, this is what they told me: “Paula, know you are not done having love in your life, you deserve to be happy again. First, you must find a way to forgive yourself of thinking you did not love him enough, pushed him out, and that you did not deserve him. He loved you completely and you were meant for each other. Don’t be afraid of Death taking that spark in your heart, it can’t be taken from you, it is always yours to keep. Your heart is something that can be given again, to anyone you wish, and that spark will grow once again in time. We will be with you in the next part of your journey, and give you eyes to see what is hidden from others. The ember in your heart will not go out because we have sent the aura of Life to you. Life is with you now, bestowed upon you to give you strength and encouragement through this time. As you rediscover your purpose, Life will beckon those to you that need you, that want you. Your gifts to those worthy of you will be fragile, and need your trust and patience to grow. Please allow Life to help you with these new bonds, and to feel comfortable receiving praise. Listen to your own voice and when an answer comes to you after a long debate in your mind, know that we are all with you and you are never truly alone. Walk down the path now, do not look behind you for long, what is ahead needs your full attention.” I turned my head just for a split second, to look further down the path, and when I looked again toward Truth and Existence, they were no longer there on the bench.
Even though I am in Central Park, surrounded by so many people, I have that rush of aloneness come over me. My feet feel heavy, stuck to this spot where I’m standing. As I exhale, I feel the sun’s rays on my back, and realize it is quite warm today. Looking to the left of the bench where Truth and Existence were just moments ago, I see that rock again next to it, the sunlight revealing tiny glints of clear quartz shimmering in between layers of deep gray. I find myself sitting on the rock now, my fingers feel it’s gnarled texture. This rock is slightly warm, even though it is early in the day, half way between morning, half way to late afternoon. The sound of traffic from 5th Avenue seems a bit more quiet than usual today, the abrupt ring of a bicycle bell snaps me out of listening to it. Tears spill as I open my eyes, and a soft whimper escapes my lips, uncertainty of this all actually happening fuels more tears. As I continue to write, surprisingly I still feel the sun’s warmth on my back from my vision, this can’t be real I say to myself. Perhaps it could be the aura of Life giving me reassurance that she is here after all and I’m not really alone. Reality has a funny way of choosing to be noticed and better yet, felt. ~Paula