Can You Mend a Broken Heart?
Sunday. This is the day I dread every week because it's the day I began this new unplanned life, a life I never wanted. I relive the same experience every Sunday– the beeping of the life support machines; my children and grandchildren weeping; Brodie, the nurse, gently putting his hand on my back; someone calling “time of death”; the doctor embracing me and crying along with me; calling Meryl to tell her and hearing her sob. It just comes back to me, whether I want it to or not. It’s almost cathartic. Sometimes it’s as familiar as stubbing your toe or banging your knee and waiting to feel the excruciating pain, then having it slowly subside. Every Sunday. Maybe it’s to keep him alive in some way. Maybe it’s just to remind me I have to begin again–not just a new week, but a new life. Maybe in some way I believe this ritual can mend my broken heart. Can you mend a broken heart, though? The days, weeks and months seem to be going by so quickly. I am getting closer to my ...