Broken Hearts

Sometimes I feel guilty about not writing for so long. Not necessarily for the readers, but this is how it starts. This is how good habits are broken. Going one, two, three days, then weeks, and months without continuing the habit that has been formed. So I will try to do better. Of course, you readers are a good motivating factor for me.

As for the last quote, there have been many tears shed and I now await for the space to be filled with smiles.

When I was about 12 years old... ish, my grandpa was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, cancer in the bones. He fought this battle for 4 years when the doctor only gave him 6 months to live. (don't quote me on the numbers, it was a long time ago) We spent many summers in southern Utah and on many occasions would find ourselves hiking the sleeping volcanos in Diamond Valley.

On this particular day, I was about 12 or so and we were up on the top of the volcano looking down. I am a bit of a chicken so when everyone was going into the volcano, I opted to stay on top. Another cousin and I began kicking the cactus (yes we are SO bright) and watching it be misplaced and soar through the air. One of my other cousins began to cry. She thought we were hurting the cactus (little did she know we would spend the next 3 days picking the needles out of our big toes) and eventually began to sob.

Since I am so sensitive sometimes to the needs of others, I began kicking more cactus. She became very upset and started to say,"you are breaking my heart." With some STRONG encouragement from my mother and aunt, my other cousin and I stopped kicking the cactus and breaking our cousin's heart.

I have had a few of these moments lately. A little piece of my heart has been broken. A little piece of my heart continues to break each time I see a picture I haven't seen before, remember something I hadn't before, see others around me with all of their children in tow, or walking through the store with my 2 girls and big pregnant belly with others staring like, "you are having more?" and really what I want to say is "yes, and I am missing one." Or going to the doctor and the nurse asking how I am. I say "fine" but what I really want to say is "well today marks the 7 months mark since my son passed away and I gained five pounds, thanks for asking." But then we would both be uncomfortable and where does that lead.

However, each day, just like picking the needles out of my big toes, I try to take out one little prick at a time, so that my heart can heal. I can't believe it has been 7 months. It will be 7 1/2 after the baby is born. There are so many feelings, so many emotions, so many that I can't even begin to describe. But each day hopefully it will hurt a little less and one more needle will be plucked from my heart.