The Promise

Sometimes I find a comfortable place to sit, I prop up my feet, I fold my hands across myself and I close my eyes.  I let my thoughts filter through, take a few big breaths and listen to what is going on inside myself, despite the running dishwasher, the noisy icemaker, the barking dogs and the music from my ever-running i-pod.  And sometimes all those sounds go away and I find one clear, precise moment of peace.  Other times, I feel like I am carrying the failures of everyone who has ever lived and lost.

Either moment leaves me with myself and the promise I made many months ago during one of those peaceful moments.  The promise to be humble and aware and hardworking and feeling and to always know who I am and where I come from.  It has gotten to the point where I welcome the confusion because it reminds me that I am alive, and it isn't a sin to be glad you're alive (props to Springsteen for that line).

You know, I think about the broken spirit of my parents after Jeff died; how they had to wake up on a daily basis with hearts that were no longer whole - fractured and broken; and I truly believe that my dad died with that broken heart cupped gently in his hands; that there was a portion of him that just didn't want to face the pain.  How could he not have felt that way?  I've felt that way, I know my siblings and my mother have felt this way.  They may shake their heads and say no but I know that the ache, the physical ache caused from the void of having lost a loved one is more piercing than any other ache in the world - and it's hard sometimes to not know whether it is going to show up at any given moment and take you out at the knees.  It's scary.  Real, real scary.

The secrets of our souls - the fights that we fight alone - can make all the dreams we believe in seem inconsequential and confusing.  Yet, comfortingly, they also gives us the muscles to carry our broken hearts gently in our hands and walk forward toward those dreams.  Being humble, being aware, being hard-working, feeling, knowing who you are and where you come from.  It's a hell of a promise to make to yourself. 

My dad lived his life according to that promise.  It's the most precious gift he ever gave me.  And so I am going to take my fractured heart, walk into the pain from the void and be glad that I'm alive.

I promise.