On the occasion of a broken heart

My sister chose to end an important relationship this week.  The reasons why are hers alone to claim, although I have my suspicions about what they may be.  My feelings on the subject are less than unimportant right now, though.  She’s bereft, in deep emotional and spiritual pain, and I can’t do anything at all to make it better for her.  She’s not alone in this, but I know she feels as though she is right now.

It seems as though everyone who is anyone is rushing to express to her their support (at least a couple are there for curiosity’s sake and nothing more, substantially).  That’s how it is, when these things happen.  People give you their words, their condolences, their support, their love, their understanding that comes from having been there and their knowing that it will get better, because, ‘Time heals all wounds’.  I can only offer the same, and hope that she is able to someday find meaning in that.  But, for the one bleeding from the hemorrhaging wound of a suddenly-severed affiànce, none of it means anything when the truth is to be spoken.  This I know. All too well.

It’s all well and good to have those sentiments, but they are just that … sentiments.  Shapeless, formless, amorphous … thought things.  And those things are like dry-rotted bandages on the lacerated, suffering, broken heart.  We have been socialized to give them out almost as a requirement in order to be viewed as decent human beings, regardless of the probability that they may not help at all, and may in fact exacerbate the situation instead.  Sometimes, silence and presence are more precious, and a held hand says more than the most well-intentioned words.  Because, after all, those … things … are more for ourselves than the wounded one.

Not that having those sentiments is a bad thing.  Not at all.  When enough time has passed, enough processing of the event has taken place, and the cascading noise of an anguished, heart-killing voyage through the emotional theatre of war that is love vs. life has begun, at last, to fade to a dull roar, the sentiment is there as a reminder that someone, somewhere, was willing to absorb some of that desolation on one’s behalf to try and make it easier to cope, knowing all the while that they were helpless to do anything at all.

I want my sister to know that I’m here for her.  I want her to know that I love her, I value her, and I understand what she is feeling.  I also want her to know, that I understand my words are worthless right now.  We are the length of a large state apart, and my hugs and offers of hands held will have to wait until the next holiday or family gathering.  Nonetheless, the meaning inherent in those words is now, and shall forever be, real.

For now, I will sit in silence and transmit my loving presence to her as best as my big-sister radar can do.  And I hope she can receive it sometime soon.

Ms. Audrey

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