Mending the Heart

Everyone has been so kind. 

There have been invitations – dinner last night and tonight, lunch tomorrow. All prepared by friends at home. Someone stopped by the office yesterday with roses, freshly cut from her garden and fragrant. She also brought a small gift bag with tiny bottles of essential oils and a small packet of tea. Chamomile Comfort.

When I came home from work yesterday, my arms overflowing with gifts and kindness, I saw a box on the step and the corner of a greeting card envelope in the mailbox. The box was from my favorite chocolatier – Kakawa Chocolate House in Santa Fe. Friends in one of my writing groups remembered. The card was from someone whose mother died a few years ago. She remembered the love and support given to her during that time and offered it to me. It’s a beautiful circle, that kind of connection.

When I came home from Mom’s almost a week ago, my footfalls on the hardwood floors echoed like sounds in an ancient abbey. I move through my space as if it has somehow become strange and a little unrecognizable. There has been a shift at home that mirrors the shift in my larger sense of home.

My brothers and I have been talking a lot lately. I think we are weaving connections to bind up the places that have been rent. That word. I always think of something Jeremiah said in the Bible, “Rend your hearts and not your clothing.” Isn’t that what grief does? Rend the heart?

I was talking on the phone last night to a friend whose husband died suddenly last weekend. He asked what I was doing to take care of myself. I told him that mostly I am trying to be attentive to my heart. That there actually is something called “broken heart syndrome.” Takotsubo cardiomyopathy can follow an extreme stressor, like the death of a loved one, especially in women over 50. It turns out that you can die of a broken heart.

So, the people who love me are getting it right. Fragrant, freshly-cut roses from the garden, beautifully crafted dark chocolate truffles, lovingly prepared meals and company, a flood of cards, essential oils and teas, phone conversations and so many other things that remind me that I am not alone.  

You see, for most of us, our mothers are the first and most constant source of love in our lives. Even before we draw our first breath, we live under her heart and her heat beat is our first language. 

When that disappears from the world, what then?

 

  

 

Creating Space: Three Months of Showing Up for What’s Showing Up is a daily writing practice.

Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012 and each year brings new wonders. She asks big questions of the small things in life.