My perpetual broken heart

Everything is so close to the surface lately.

We’ve been in the process of moving to a new place, and it’s an eight minute drive from our current place so I have been using my truck to haul loads of packed-up things to our new sunny apartment. I spend lots of time imagining how we will configure all our stuff. A few days ago, I even gridded out the room sizes on graph paper so that I could arrange and rearrange the furniture well before we’re moving it over.

In order to get all the moving parts of moving (ha ha) in order, I’ve had to hustle harder than usual. More phone calls, more driving, more projects, more work, more invoices, more deadlines.

Two days ago I pulled into a bank parking lot on my way home from Meijer so that I could give ten dollars and a small bag of snacks to the man who holds a sign for his grandson, who is only eighteen and needs a new kidney. He was so peaceful and kind, and thanked me. We hugged and he prayed and as I walked away, my huge grin turned to wracking sobs and I sat in my truck and bawled.

Everything is so close to the surface: there is so little I can really do other than see the pain and offer a token of my love and my fervent prayer for all to be well.

My children continue to get older — taller, cleverer, more articulate — and sometimes just looking at them breaks my heart. How beautiful and precious they are. How fragile is the cord that stretches between each one’s heart and mine; and how perfectly complete I feel in the knowledge that these wonderful people are my kids.

I keep waking up from dreams that have left me with a profound sense of something, or someone, that is missing.

There is someone there, some spirit or ghost or being, that knows me. Someone I know is there, someone whose presence I often feel. I only see them in my dreams, and that only occasionally. They wear different faces, showing up so that I know that I am loved.

Who knew that love could make a person feel so sad sometimes?

My heart is broken open; everything is so close to the surface.

It is preferable to being wrapped up so tightly that I cannot sense anything. I would rather see and feel the pain and sorrow of life than be immune to all of it.

This post originally published at – it has been lightly edited.

Rhiannon Kelley
Stargazer, medium, druid, student. Activist & rabble-rouser. Married with four kids. Really fucking sweary. Genderqueer & poly. They/them/theirs.

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