Monday, April 5, 2010

The sound of a heart breaking

When you started your blog it was a place to come where you could show yourself to the world as you were and not as anyone wanted you to be or paid you to be or asked you to be. This is why you came back again and again, because you want to be seen for who you are. And people found you who wanted to know you and you wrote and they read and all was well.

But what if one day something happened that was too monumental to fit on a page, you had not the words? Something like a sea change, like sand in the lungs, like the end of a marriage negotiated in heated whispers in the small hours of a morning, alarmingly sudden, yet a long time coming?

What then? What words?

Life can turn on a dime. One minute you have it neatly wrapped up and the next it has all come undone.

In the beginning you want to set blame, place it or take it. But you know that's a game that nobody wins, a con man's shell game with a vanishing prize, and the voices of fault are just shills in the crowd. Yet you can't quite believe this thing that has passed. You are by turns frightened, guilt-ridden, destroyed, liberated, utterly lost.

When others look at you, they don't see a change. On the outside you look quite the same.

The days go by, a week goes by, you write nothing. You read other blogs, leave a few comments for normalcy's sake. See snippets of worlds in full saturation, smiles on faces, chocolate on faces, windows into other lives intact.

You go about the business of your life, you eat, you sleep, well not really eat or sleep, but you go through the motions of a day. At work you walk down the hallway and wish for something to support you but your parents they are gone and your friends are scattered to the corners of the globe and the one man who was your ally in the world you have discarded and the weight of this descends on you and you suddenly wish you could collapse and that others would rush in and say, “rest and we will take it from here, carry on with what needs to be done.” But these are the thoughts of a child and you are not a child, so instead you keep on walking down the hall and out the door and to the ladies, on your knees you quietly vomit in the toilet then return to your office for there's still work to do, so much yet to do, so much left undone.

At night you are grateful for a few hours sleep until you are awakened by the silence of the house, by the sound of four hearts breaking in the quiet of the night. For only in your dreams do you hear the pitch and keen of the wails left unvoiced and in their dark confusion you don't know if they are yours or they are his or the echoes of your children's yet to come, for they don't even know yet, or do they sense it falling down around them?

You watch them watching you and is that fear in their eyes or did you make that up? And then the other day the girl was playing with a toy, a little nothing toy and it broke and for a moment she stood frozen, then collapsed in a wilderness of tears. You crouched down next to her to clean up the mess of this thing, this silly party favor toy, meant to amuse for a moment and be discarded, and you said there, there, it is just a little thing, and she buried her head in your back and said I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And you set down the broken pieces of this throwaway thing that had meant the world to her and took her in your arms and held her and if you could, you would have pulled her all the way into your heart.

Ah, the children, the unwitting casualties of your compounded mistakes.

So you sit at your keyboard and search for the words to release the images caught up in your heart. For even the unbeautiful truths need expression, and expression is trust and trust is a cliffdive into the unknown.

You stood at this precipice once before, you and he, and looked over the edge and backed away from the fear of it all, vowed to do better, love harder, and yet here you are once again and this time you stepped off, are falling, freefalling. You feel the wind in your face, the ground rushing towards you through eyes that are shut, you pray that the memory of flight that is cached in your soul reawakens and grips you and buoys you up, carries you off to somewhere that is not ground zero, a place that you've felt in your heart, perhaps somewhere you should have been all along.

And don't you see that you are me, that you are fine, that I am broken.  I am lost.  I am falling.  I am praying for a net.


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50 comments:

  1. Oh honey...my heart breaks for all four of you. I am here whenever you need me. Promise.

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  2. Hello, I am new to your blog. I feel a little voyeuristic that this is the first post of yours I have read. A beautiful, painful, gut-wrenching post.

    I hope to get to know you more, learn more about you and offer some small bit of cyber support as you find yourself on this journey. I'm really, truly sorry this has happened in your family.

    (came over from Kakka's blog)

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  3. nothing I can say will help except, I love you.
    I wish I could help.
    you know where to come if ya lose your mind completely, we can keep each other company!<3

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  4. I'm so sorry. It won't always be this gut wrenching.

    For now it is, and I know that. I know I felt lost and scared. I wasn't sure I'd make it on my own, wasn't sure my kids would adjust.

    There's a lot in your head and your heart right now. Writing it out always helped me, which is how my current blog came to be. An evolution from my first blog that was born out of my divorce. I'm not sure if this space is somewhere you can spill all of that onto, but you are always welcome to borrow mine and I know of a few other "anonymous" blogs where you can pour your heart out if you find that's what helps.

    And should you ever need just a private ear, just email me. I know we haven't been stalking each other's blogs all too long, but the offer is there just the same. As someone who's been there and as an "internet friend".

    I'm so sorry.

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  5. Wow. Amazing what is going on behind the lines. I know this is neither here nor there when you are hurting, but you write so beautifully. Am a world away, but please know I am on a corner of that net, wishing I could provide you a soft fall. Bern x

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  6. Kristin, oh Kristin. I wish I were there, to hand you tissues and hot chocolate. Instead I am here, holding you electronically. xx

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  7. I want to somehow express sympathy and empathy but any words sound hollow. I hope that you find your writing cathartic; you write beautifully.

    Try to avoid assigning blame. In these situations you make a decision at the time. In retrospect it can seem as though you could have made a different decision for a better outcome, but the cliched 'you live and learn' has a ring of truth about it.

    When you need to offload or try to make sense of things, we'll be here for you.

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  8. I'm so sorry. I hope you can keep going and please know that we're here for you.

    xxx

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  9. Sharing, with strangers;

    We don’t really speak with strangers, we look and listen, sometimes gaining a glimpse, an insight into what makes them tick.

    When looking we see the outside, that we’re supposed to see, what we're shown.

    When listening we hear what we’re suppose to hear, what we’re told.

    What they share.

    A glimpse, an insight comes from the things we read into what we’ve seen and heard, flavoured by our own experiences and spun through our imagination as though we were in that strangers place.

    It’s not important that we be welcomed into the strangers life, what is important is that the stranger is seen, and heard, sharing the life they live in expressions of joy or sorrow.

    The sharing doesn’t cure, at best it begins the healing.

    The sharing is a step, just like our first it starts us on a path, to where we won’t know until we arrive, but the path is new and we can make of it what we will.

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  10. Oh Kristin, I don't have the right words to say. Just hugs and more hugs.xoxoxo

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  11. I am so sorry that you are in this place. To write this, to be so honest, to put it out there, shows an inner strength. I believe that it is this strength that will get you through. One step, one day at a time. Hugs from Perth xxx

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  12. The writing is masterful, and masterfully you will surpass the void.

    More flags to you Kristin.

    AV

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  13. Oh darling. I have no words. I am thinking of you, know that.

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  14. Kristin ~ My heart is breaking for you all. I am praying this evening that the path will open up for you all to find healing, forgiveness and strength for the journey.

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  15. Well then my lovely, here we are. My words are clumsy after the beauty of yours and the poetry of Mr Xmas's. So I offer you my friendship across the miles and a cyber hug or three.

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  16. Oh Dear! I can't imagine the strength you would have mustered to write this. I have no words... after what you have written. But just a prayer that you would bring yourself up again. You are not alone.

    xxx

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  17. How tough it must have been to write this, so detailed I felt the reality of what you are going through. Lots of hugs coming your way...

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  18. This is very, very sad. I am so sorry to read it.

    I am a million miles away, but I can hear your heart breaking...

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  19. You write of feeling lost and in that you connect to so many - loneliest hours safely tucked away under the smooth blanket of our daily lives. Such courage. Such strength. And love.

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  20. A sad post, but beautiful writing! If it's any encouragement. It hurts to read your post. Your pain is felt. But isn't that what they say: the best writing comes out of difficult experiences?

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  21. Reading your post for the second time, and it still moves me as much! Take care. Things will get better.

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  22. I just started following you and I wanted to let you know that I remember how what you are going through now feels, it won't last forever, although right now I know it feels that way. But I promise you it won't. Just keep moving because that is all you can do.

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  23. Oh Kristin... oh my poor dear sweet girl. I'm so sorry you're going through this.

    I have been there, and am out the other side.

    You will get through this, and life will be much better than you think you will.

    I'm on skype as "maryliin" (with two i's) if you ever want to talk.

    I'm so sorry sweety.

    Sending you ALL my love.

    You are a wonderful STRONG woman, you WILL get through this. xxx

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  24. whole

    There will be a day you will be catapulted from your own bedrock.
    Around you, everything humming as usual, but a scream
    will have lodged in your throat, dismantling your song. That shock
    will mutate into sadness, then rage, then something so out of proportion
    you will not recognize its borders. And then it will be time
    to walk the long hallway and it will seem almost obscenely solitary,
    you dangling above the precipice of your tiny life, a caricature of alone.
    But then, like a great wind, a thousand hands, prayers, offerings will carry
    you home, and just like that you will be joined forever, your soul
    twinned with everything you see, the heart of the world so clear and close and whole.

    Maya Stein

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  25. I'm so sorry, so sorry that you feel so alone in this.
    I wish there was something more to do or say that could help.

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  26. HI....

    award waiting for you at my blog....

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  27. Hmmm - don't know why I am just now seeing this. I was thinking about you and hoping you were ok.

    When I'm confronting terrifying reality, the perspective from astrology always brings me comfort, which is that what falls away does so because you can no longer sustain it, and so its time comes to an end. Maybe in a gut-wrenching, and grief-stricken way, but because it must.

    And in that falling away is an opportunity to let emerge what had been growing hidden underground, like a new plant that was just a seed, but now has taken root and requires light and room to grow.

    And when you're down there in the dirt, struggling simply to break through the soil, moving toward light but not yet there, it's hard, hard, hard.

    You're not alone. Not many of us make it to grown-up un-scarred. And you've built such an international community of caring friends (and some much closer by) who can see your courage and strength and hold such good wishes for you. Like me.

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  28. My heart is with you sweetie. Lovely expression of what is going on and I hope it helps to gain perspective on it and know that you have so much support from bloggy friends. Sending virtual hugs....

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  29. Thank you everyone for your kind words. I so appreciate your support and thoughfullness. xoxo

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  30. You have given words to immense personal pain that so many out there can relate to, and we are grateful for that. Thank you for sharing.

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  31. Thinking of you Kristin. Care and remember you. You have great depth and wisdom - and love. And the great gift of honouring your truth. You are a great mum and a great person. All will be well. xxxxx
    Bill

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  32. Kirsten, your post was powerful and moving. I can honestly say it is one of the best pieces I've ever read and it touched me deep inside where I'd rather it didn't...it took courage to write what you did. It inspires me to unlease my own pain - but I'm not as brave as you - I have a Blog and a secret blog for my pain. So much for trust...
    Hope it gets better. You are so strong, you'll be fine.

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  33. The most beautiful thing i have read in a long time. Very special lady. You have all the strength you will need. x

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  34. Hang in there.
    I am your newest follower- from flog yo blog. :)

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  35. Hi Kristin, I have to say that this writing you did here was amazing, but the story was a hard one to tell, I'm sure. I know this sounds crazy, but I think you should submit this to the New York Times, Modern Love column. I feel the honest writing here could really help so many. The words that are so true are sometimes the hardest to hear, but they are the words we need to hear the most. I am sending love to you!

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  36. I'm so sorry that you are going through this :( this post was so beautifully and emotively written that I have goosebumps. I hope that this or somewhere can provide an outlet for you to share and get through this difficult time. (((hugs)))

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  37. I just read your most recent post, that linked here.

    I don't know what to say, but your pain is tangible and I wanted to reach out to you. I am kinda crying and feel for you. I can't fix your situation, but wish I could.

    I don't know you very well, but, feel I do. You say about coming to the blog world to be you, and it is true. It is a very intimate way for a stranger to get to know someone, through their own written words.

    I know you have the strength you need just now.

    My thoughts are with you x

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  38. Sending you my hand to stroke your forehead and a whisper for your ear to tell you 'everything will be ok'.

    Be kind to yourself.

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  39. Just read this post ... and sobbing, for my own reasons. Been lurking for a few weeks via Frogpondsrock. A painfully beautiful post that expresses the infinite sadness and more importantly, the love that still exists between you all. Sometimes though, it just doesn't work and we have to decide that everyone will ultimately be happier living as friends. I hope that whatever else happens, you can find fresh starts with mutual respect as friends.

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  40. Kristin, hang in there - it will get better. I've been there, and it was crushing at the time. If you quit making fun of my bio - I'll buy you a dean and deluca sammich :)

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  41. What a gorgeous, heart-stopping post. You speak so beautifully for anyone who has ever faced (and leaped off) the precipice.

    Your grace and obvious love for your family will carry you through this. I have no doubt.

    Thank you for sharing this. I'm sending you the very best thoughts and prayers.

    XO

    Anna

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  42. I've been there. And in this moment, reading this, I'm there again, feeling it again, even though my heart broke over months before the end was finally, thankfully agreed upon; rather than negotiated in the "early hours".

    I too have the two small and beautiful children, and the hardest part of this all, once my heart began its healing and I realized I was better Without Him, has been explaining it all again and again and again for small ears and young minds that cannot quite grasp why Mommy and Daddy are not together and will not be together Ever Again.

    Hold on to them and tell them over and over and over that you love them and always will.

    It does get easier. I promise. But it's a hard road.

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  43. Kristin I am sorry, because the road is hard and lonely and I understand that aching need for someone to say "there there its going to be alright" and to have someone to take care of you just for a bit, just long enough for you to feel settled in yourself again - those are thoughts of all humans - not just a child - we all need supporting humans around! I do hope you have found that.

    I am sorry, but I am also feeling that twinge of hope for you, that you are slowly turning towards something positive, that place you knew existed in your heart that you now have the freedom to pursue, to make a home in.

    Lovely writing Kristin - terrible and lovely.

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  44. Wow, what a painfully beautiful and very well written post. I have just found your blog and look forward to reading more

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  45. it's so great. I never saw a great article like this before. thanks for letting me know.
    It's Andy from Blog on Blogspot

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  46. I know you wrote this more than three years ago, but I have just found it now. I am choked with tears. What a beautiful writer you are.

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