The Condition of a Broken Heart in the "Worst Club Ever"

It's been 105 days since my Dad's heart stopped before my eyes.

I want to share with you, honestly and transparently about how I feel. 

I feel, tired. 

I am a strong person. I can manage myself in most situations as an alpha female. I can go to the gym, work, and do normal social things without interruption of negative or sad feelings. I have days where I get teary, but the grief wave swells feel like they are further apart each time they happen. 

However, there is something about grief that people don't really tell you, the condition of a truly broken heart and how it affects all the other parts of your nervous system. 

In my personal experience, when you lose a loved one––in my case, a parent––your heart breaks a few times on an ordinary day. When you think about a vacation, a song, a joke, talk to a friend, see a photo, think of a memory, etc. You can't escape a broken heart. I am early in my grief journey but I don't know that I'll ever escape it. 

How does having a consequential broken heart affect the other feelings you have throughout your day? To me, visually, it feels like a giant scab. My heart over the course of my life time has been broken and has healed. It had developed a tough exterior and things I wanted to keep in, stay in and the things I want out could be picked off a little at a time. When you experience the death of a parent it feels like the entire exterior of the scab is ripped off slowly and painfully. What you are left with is an exposed piece of flesh that radiates pain just as the wind blows. 

A small disappointment, confrontation, a joke that was a little too sarcastic, or an unexpected outcome will inflict pain that feels just as excruciating as the grief itself because your heart is bare, raw and exposed. 

In my case, this has resulted in hard conversations, removal of friendships, deep discussions with God and lots of tears. I used to cry on occasion when I had an exceptionally hard day, but now when I cry it takes me to a deeper level, a level where I can feel my broken heart. The sensitivity is immeasurable. It's nothing like I've ever experienced.

The adverse feeling on the opposite side of the spectrum is comparable to when you have a baby and the joy you feel when you hold them in your arms for the first time. The opposite of birth is death. It's tangible and can never be erased. 

I believe my broken heart is anticipating the hard days to come, a number of "firsts," are coming. Dad's first Birthday (Nov 28), first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first New Year's (which also happens to be my daughter's birthday), and the most painful, his retirement date, January 4th which was also his mom's birthday.

It's all coming fast and I feel like the closer I get to it, the harder it is to accept. 

My children are 6 and 4 and they were very close to my Dad. They are really starting to understand that he is not coming back and watching my very vivacious, social and happy 6-year-old daughter go through grief is one of the hardest thing I've ever experienced. 

She told me she hates God for taking Pappy. "Mom, I never got to say goodbye. Pappy was my everything. He used to build legos with me, do puzzles, and help me play games on the iPad. Pappy used to stop us when we would get root beers out of the fridge, he'd say, 'hey! quit drinking all that beer!'" We giggled and sobbed and my heart break deepened. 

My son is 4 so he has stopped asking, "when is Pappy coming back from Heaven?" He's started to state, "Pappy died, his heart stopped. I miss him, Mommy"

It's all so fucking hard. I would never trade the love that I received from my Dad. However, with great love comes great grief and no one tells you exactly how much that grief weighs. No one can explain it to you until you experience it yourself. 

That's also why it feels like, "the worst club ever." You never want a membership but once you have it, only those in the club really get it. 

If you are reading this and you are experiencing the gravity of a grieving broken heart, I see you. I am sorry. I pray that you heal. I pray that you have support, love, and happy days. In contrary to the dark and heavy moments, I do have good days and moments––more good than bad. I'm grateful for them. 

I'm sorry you are in, "the worst club ever." What we do best is love on one another. Hugs and words of encouragement are in the bylaws and empathy is our mission statement. When I am really down, I like to turn to the members of the club and seek them for encouragement. To know that one day it will sting less. That time will continue to shrink the swells. 

We are in this, together. 

In Light of Anguish, all broken hearts can be healed. 

Bri