February 3, 2017 | Grief carves chasms in the soul. When those deep open wounds heal, they leave scars of redemption, redefinition, and a greater capacity to love.
There was a decade wedged into my personal timeline when I was a medical transcriptionist. Among a myriad of life lessons learned in that endeavor, I learned a lot of medical terms. Probably just enough of them to make me a dangerous hypochondriac, but that's a theme for another day.
The term I'm thinking about today is cardiomegaly, which is technically defined as the enlarging of the heart. It's not a good diagnosis in medical terms, but I'm thinking about the term philosophically, which is much, much better for your health, even though it can still cause a fair amount of heartache.
Grief carves chasms in the soul. Over time, those deep open wounds begin to heal, leaving scars of redemption and redefinition.
Yet, we only carry the scars of our own grief. I know well the grief of losing a mother and father, a father-in-law, a brother, brothers-in-law, niece, cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles, neighbors, and friends. Each scar redefines me. Clarifies my understanding. Sharpens my empathy. But I cannot say I fully empathize with the grief of losing a child, or a spouse, or a grandchild, because I do not yet carry those scars of grief on my soul. I can only sympathize, and try to understand the depth of grief for those who carry those agonizing scars. * See Edits Below.
When I lost my mother, part of me was glad of the sharp pain in my heart and the sting behind my eyes alerting of tears threatening to spill. I thought if the heartache remained, it meant I would never be able to forget her.
Years later, there are times when a pang of heartache will grip me as I think of her, but it isn't a constant pain anymore. Usually, my thoughts and memories of her bring a smile to my face. I learned that the space I gave in my soul to house the love I felt for my mother doesn't diminish with time. Instead, it enlarges with memories. I was never in any danger of forgetting my mother. Her space in my soul only increases with each passing day.
Before I gave birth to my second child, I was worried that I was somehow taking love away from our first child. My mother told me that with each addition to the family my capacity to love would expand. Her words proved to be true. Even when I added daughters- and sons-in-law and precious grandchildren, I felt an increase of love for each of them. My heart simply made room. The same happens to me every time I lose someone I love.
My capacity to love increases once again, storing my memories and feelings of them so they can never be forgotten.
My mom made a big deal out of the fact that she and I were both February Girls. Born two days after Valentines Day, she said I was her belated Valentine. Every year she woke me up with heart-shaped pancakes and a lipstick message on the bathroom mirror.
She was absolutely ecstatic a few years later when my niece Taryn was born, adding a granddaughter to the February Girls.
And in 2013, my first grandson was born in February, making me think Mom would've changed her term to February Kids.
Today would have been my mother's 90th birthday. She died 21 years ago, at the age of 69, and ever since then, my heart has been expanding with memories of her. After 21 years, I realize I was never in any danger of forgetting her. The years have sharpened the memories, clear and crisp.
The expansion of the human heart is a miraculous thing. Happy birthday, Mom. I'm drawing a big heart on the bathroom mirror today, just for you.
Edited February 17, 2017: Hey, Mom! We've got another February Kid! You have a great-granddaughter, little Allie B., born on February 17th. Did you have anything to do with that? I bet you did. She's absolutely perfect. There goes my heart. Expanding, again.
Edited August 2, 2017: Oh, Mom. That scarring upon the heart I spoke of earlier? Our tiny grandson, William Theron, was born and died today. He touched down on earth just long enough to anchor his memory in our hearts for eternity. My heart has expanded, yet again, for our little angel boy. Take good care of him, Mom! Snuggle him for us and tell him how much he is loved.
Edited February 28, 2020: Hi, Mom. There's talk of a pandemic down here on earth. We don't know what's ahead, but a very bright spot entered the family today! Another February Kid! Little Charlotte Jane arrived just in time. We're calling her Charlie, and I think you already know just how perfectly heavenly she is!
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