The question before me THIS day is ‘What do I miss the most?’.
Today, in THIS moment, that question is too much for me to tackle because what I miss the most is a loss that no one on the outside can see, yet I am reminded of it with the experience of every emotion and with every twinge of phantom pain; it’s the invisible loss of my God-given heart, the heart that He stitched together in my mother’s womb, especially for me.
My Heart: 02/22/1970-04/21/2008.
It’s been almost 5 years since my heart failed, was amputated, and my donor’s heart full of life and hope was seated in its place, but the fact remains that the thing I miss the most is my heart, all that it meant to me, all of the memories it stored, and the spunk I believe it gave me as a person. It was the heart all radiant on my wedding day; the heart that lulled our son to sleep within my womb; the heart whose beat could soothe his cry like none other; the heart that was known to me.
There are some that judge me as having exceeded the allotted time for grieving such a loss. I confess to you that I have little patience for such judgement, especially as I consider how few have lived the right to speak into these moments of my life. I also reject the aspect of our culture that rushes through losses rather than taking the time to steep in the new realities that walk hand in hand with each loss. I am not suggesting that we get stuck, but come on, let’s sit with the experience of the losses.
One doesn’t get over the death of their heart; it’s a process-ongoing though thankfully, I am at a point in my grief that I can use the lived experience to the benefit of others. I am being healed: slowly, yet surely. Know, however, that I will NEVER forget my heart.
I miss the girl who carried her own heart within; the girl who was a fun-loving, full of adventure wife and mom; the girl who could laugh at the ridiculous things of this life rather than becoming so insanely annoyed; the girl who would run into a crowd without concern of infection; the girl who NEVER feared rejection of any kind; the girl who gave her professional life to the provision of healthcare, healing care to children and their families as they walked the road less traveled, the road of cancer; the girl who believed that the end of treatment was the end of the cancer story; the girl whose denial likely allowed her to grow up good, to grow up slow; the girl, innocent and sweet, beautiful and unique; the girl who drank in moments as a matter of habit never once thinking that any given moment could possibly be the last.
Though forever thankful for my new heart, I miss my heart the most and I long for THAT girl I once was [and] hope to become again.
Yeah, give me some of THAT girl!Tweet