16 comments

  1. heartmom

    It is ugly and jagged and cuts me in half. A permanent zipper down the middle of my chest – a scar that doesn’t tan like the rest of my skin and makes low-cut clothing an adventure… but I wear it like a badge. Like a war medal that I earned in battle. It is a testament to my spirit, and a reminder of a most precious piece of myself.
    My baby girl had a scar just like this one – My sweet Caroline Rose, who had heart surgery 4 days after she was born; right after we had celebrated our August birthdays. She had been diagnosed hours after she came hurtling into this world, and spent the rest of her short life struggling to survive. She had defied logic, and stayed with me much longer than any doctor had predicted. She had the heart of a lion.
    Losing her shattered me. The pain in my heart was a physical thing, visible in the dullness of my eyes and the droop of my defeated shoulders. I pressed on – I had to; I had another daughter who needed me; who needed a real mother. I inched past the pain, into a numbness of soul – not dead, but not truly alive either. I pushed harder, and exhausted self trying to do all the right things.
    Six years afar Caroline died, I was given a tangible explanation for my fatigue and heart ache: I had a congenital heart defect too. Not as severe as my daughter’s, the hole in my heart had hidden and grown, undetected for 34 years,expanding dangerously, flipping and flopping inefficiently.
    I had it repaired, and oddly, the experience helped to heal my soul as well. I was able to truly see what my daughter had seen, feel what she had felt, and anticipate the kind of existence she would have lived with. I also came to realize that I DID want to live, and love , and survive with the family I cherished here on earth.
    My scar reminds me of that. It is jagged and ugly and glaring – it shouts that I am strong and I am a fighter and that I choose life. My troubled heart, something of a blessing in disguise, is something that I celebrate.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Wow, Karen, what elegant writing. You write about extremely difficult emotions with grace and dignity befitting a lioness, a queen who wears her crown on her chest. Your opening paragraph gives a visual picture of an emotional situation, leading us easily into your story. I love “She had defied logic” because sometimes there is no explanation for these things and you captured her spirit and perhaps her longing to stay just a little longer. I also love “Losing her shattered me.” It’s only four words, but potent words, told so simply, but in sync with the sharp hurt felt at the time. I enjoy your writing style: simply telling the details, no extra words. . . each word is perfect . . . no fluff. your ending paragraph is uplifting, befitting this queenly narration. Thank you very much for sharing.

    2. Ke11y

      This piece touched me deeply, tearfully. It doesn’t matter why. Long may you celebrate your badge of courage.

      1. mcullen Post author

        Beautifully said, Kelly.

        1. heartmom

          Thank you Kelly and Marlene – it’s a story that I am compelled to tell, but have been challenged to share …. I worry about making people uncomfortable – so your encouragement is so appreciated!

          1. mcullen Post author

            Heartmom, you tell the story with such grace and heart-feelings. . . it’s not uncomfortable . . rather heart-warming. Truly.

    3. Kathy Myers

      Very moving and well written story. You are a ‘heart mom” indeed. You bravely go deep here, and gift us with a telling vignette about the nature of your daughter; a spirit that influenced your recovery from a broken heart—literally and figuratively. You prove in this piece, that big stories can be told with brevity. Your scar is proof you have lived to share her story. Treasure it.

      1. mcullen Post author

        Well said, Kathy.

      2. heartmom

        Thank you for such kind words,Kathy.

  2. Ke11y

    The meandering road, disappearing over the hill, seems a more interesting route, and so heading nowhere in particular, with the evening light falling down golden, bleeding mixtures of greens and blues through the trees, I turn right, leaving the city in search of tranquility, greenness, space, clean air, and a chance to be alone with my thoughts.

    An hour on into the country, coming round the bend, I witness the face of a little darling standing on the grass verge, a stick in her hand, yellow bonnet beneath which nestles her ocean-wheat locks; some of which fall around her shoulders. I raise my hand, smiling from my old MGA. The lick of happiness that happens on her face reaches right through the day, touching my heart. I watch in my mirror, her hand still raised, not in goodbye but hello, before the bend swallows her.

    Winters must be difficult out here, but for now, under a transparent stretch of azure sky, the afternoon throws its patchwork-quilt-of-hope over the hills. I have seeped deep into this valley with no sure direction, but that which this one road has commanded. I’ve seen no signposts, no roads joining, and have succumbed to the joyous feeling of being lost.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Love the opening, Kelly. . . an easy route into this short piece. The meandering road matches the mood of the narrator, the tranquility of this scene and the easy way the narrator says hello and good-bye to the “little darling.” I absolutely love “azure sky” and “patchwork-quilt-of-hope.” Gorgeous writing.

    2. heartmom

      That “lick of happiness” that crossed her face, settled on mine as I read this, Kelly. I especially love the verbs that you use – “SEEPED deep into this valley” “WITNESS the face” “BLEEDING mixtures of greens and blues” … those are verbs that we feel to our bones. This was just a joy to read!!

      1. Ke11y

        Kathy, your kind remarks have gladdened my day. Thank you.

  3. Ke11y

    May I place this piece here, Marlene?

    The enigma of something being right, sadly ending wrong.

    Tribute to Robin Williams

    There is a tiny segment in the brain of a clown that distinguishes him from any other kind of man, and this can seen more clearly in the shape of his heart; for the heart in a clown is somewhat ‘raggedy’ where the wear and tear of his business has torn the arteries, distorted the contours. A clown is a knight without armor. He leaves behind the enigma of absence, yet the sure knowledge that he believes in you. You never really understand whether you know a clown, but if you believe in him, he will make you laugh. A clown loves not at all wisely, he just loves, and if he can believe in you, then he can believe in heaven. He can believe in peace.

    1. mcullen Post author

      This is beautiful, Kelly. Chills here, especially your last line. I hope Robin Williams has now found peace. We all die sometime, some how, but death by one’s own hand is so sad. Robin and his family have been on my mind this week. Thank you for posting this.

  4. heartmom

    Such a beautiful tribute to a man who was truly beloved… his death has had such a profound impact on me. He shared his heart and soul with the world, and it is a sadder and darker place without him. Thank you Kelly.

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