Old House Heart

It was in the early hours of this morning when it hit me. Yesterday, when I first heard that it was a worse day than I thought, I drove angry. I wasn’t angry, but rage is often the first thing I reach for when I feel something unpleasant in the pit of me. I was able to push it down and move forward, busying myself with making some delicious chili to bring down to visit our friends in Springville. I put a lot of effort in to that chili, putting my mind on doubling, or tripling the recipe. As it turns out, doubling the recipe is as much as my instapot can handle.

I worked at it, and forgot about my heartache. For a time. Miraculously, when we went down to visit, I was somehow able to keep positive. I feel like this is a marathon, so the heartbreak is going to have to last. I think my experiences with loss have educated me. I lost a friend last year, suddenly. This is not really the place to delve in to it, but that loss was jarring, and I had to deal very suddenly with it. The worst part of that loss is over, but I feel it every day. This loss is on-going. It’s like if somebody was robbing you of your most valuable thing and you were just helpless to do anything but watch.

Helpless and heartache. I learned some time in my adulthood that heartache is when you want something to be better but are absolutely powerless to make it better. Really better. If you have ever had a sick toddler, and can’t do anything to help their misery but hold them and wait. Especially if you’ve had a sick child, you would take their illness if you could. I wish I could take the sadness and pain. Children, though their carry our genes in to the future, sometimes highlight in sharp contrast, how completely helpless we are.

I have been crying. In my youth I used to really hold these things back, because crying makes you feel less like a man. I don’t think I have any illusions of being manly at this point.

I feel guilt and anger. I try to handle these by attempting to be reasonable. My emotional state is like a house in a storm. There are things getting banged about. There is creaking. Many parts of the house that are empty and dormant are frustrated at the agitation. You can’t reason with the house, or the storm. You just have to wait it out and see what shape the house is in after. I feel like this is a really bad, shake-the-house-kind-of-storm, where things will never be the same.

I am an optimist. I hope that when the storm clears we have enough of a house left. I wish for the brightest possible outcome, and I care about people. I care about your story and how you got where you are and where you hope to go. These are the things that matter.

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