This Broken Heart is Full

Yesterday I found a hawk feather on the sidewalk on St. Paul Street. Despite the gusts of wind, the feather lay in wait. I decided it was waiting for me.

Five months officially in this new life. I’m about to move into my tiny new home, and make a go of thriving on my own. I didn’t see these changes coming until late December, and despite how hard I fought against them, even then I knew they were inevitable. I wonder if the trees try to hold onto their beautiful leaves so tightly?

If you had told me then that I would move through this in all the ways I’ve moved, I never would have believed you. Back then, I thought I would die. I thought the only thing that could get me through such a devastating loss was the love of my children, their need for me in their lives. Back then, I thought that the end of this relationship would be the greatest failure of my life, and I would shut away pieces of my heart forever.

This loss has shattered me, but in this breaking apart, wide open spaces have been excavated and filled with torrents of love. I am surrounded by people who remind me of all the good in me. In the ways they listen, in their gestures of care and compassion, in their encouraging and uplifting words and messages. That love has bonded to me as I’ve pieced myself together, like molten gold that fuses to the sharpest edges of my hurt.

To my friends, my tribe, who have held my hand as I’ve cried and offered me shelter, food, wine, and even a captive audience for a particularly drunken night of angsty poetry; I love you to the ends of the earth. My home will always have space for you. My life will always be open to you. You are as much family to me as my own blood, and I am honored to be able to share this journey with you.

To my parents, who have fed me, given my children and I a home together, gifted me with some of the essentials that will make my own home more comfortable, and endured having much of their space taken over by my bins and boxes; you are exactly what I hope I can be to my own kids – dependable, safe, loving, and supportive in every way. I can’t wait to have you grace my dinner table soon.

To my children who know that I am steadfast and committed to them no matter how my relationship with their other parents has changed; the three of you are the most important people in my life, and you always will be.

To my aunties and my cousins who have stored my possessions, sent me gift baskets, sat with me and cried, sent messages of love, offered trucks and muscles to get me on my way, distracted me with brunch and bbqs; never before has family meant so much to me. I’m grateful to have you all, near and far and I love you very much.

To my far-away-Mary, a new friend who spent many a sleepless night with me, talking me through the twists and turns of the particular intricacies of a poly breakup, despite the fact that her own life was full of incubating, and then nourishing her two beautiful babes; I’m not sure you realize how you’ve cemented yourself in my heart with this kindness.

To Sav, for making a comeback; here’s to friendships that pick up where they’ve left off, and to the steady flow of good food, good drink and debaucherous conversation.

To my Niagara crew Chiara, Natalka, Andorlie, Sarah Y, Elisabeth, Samantha, Laura H, Joe and Merissa, Raine and Miguel; some of you got to see a lot more of me this summer, but each of you has given me something precious that has made this journey easier. I look forward to deepening our friendships now that I am close by again.

To the many, many people who have taken time to send me a message and reassure me, or thank me for my words; you are all precious to me, and when I write, I’m always thinking of you.

To Gordy and Michel for reaching out.

To Sally, Lena and Nancy; I’ve been shit at working on my novel these last few months, but the three of you have made me accountable to the other part of this experience that has lifted me and held me afloat – my writing. You inspire and move me, you fill me with determination and belief in myself. I love you, writer-sisters.

To my newest friend. You’re helping me feel like the city I’ve lived near for the last five years is actually my home by showing me all the best places. You give me new music every time I see you. You make me laugh from the depths of my belly. You understand both the space that I need and the closeness that I yearn for. You do so many things that make me feel light, and lovely, and like someone is seeing me for who I am, here in this moment in time. I thought our timing was absurd. Now I think it’s just right.

To my brother; you’ve now seen every single messy space I occupy, and yet you continue to be steadfast and solid. I wouldn’t have made it through Florida without you. I hope I never have to help you through a time like this, but if I do, I hope you know I’ll be there wholly and without hesitation.

It’s with a genuine sense of excitement that I step into this new life. The fact that I am beginning again as we approach Autumn, my favourite time of year, is a wonder to me. I feel like I’m stepping into my own turning of seasons, that I will blaze with colour, just before I turn deeply inward to find my own warmth.

This life I’ve lived, from the time we came together, to the tragic way we came apart, has truly taught me everything there is to know about love.

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