Monday night meetings and again my heart comes undone. I am reminded, over and over again, of the sweetness and destruction our simple lives bring. The death of her mother, the death of her lover, the death of her baby....And mothers being made, lovers making love, babies being born. I cry, later, because there is hardly a moment in today to make space of tears. There is hardly a moment to even feel the loss and gain of everyday life. So I keep moving, I keep working, I keep making dinner, because some nights that is all I know how to do. Some nights potato leek soup is the only thing that keeps thoughts of rape victims, violent crime, and deadly car accidents at the door. Some nights making pumpkin pie is the only thing that keeps my feet moving when I think of the loss of your mother.
I often wonder if this beating will ever stop. We are beat down constantly, everyday, by stereotypes, gender roles, fear, crime, homelessness, the list goes on. And then I remember what else beats. The sun. Your baby and your pots and pans. The snare drum of your favorite band. A friend knocking at my wooden door. And above all, our Hearts. They will always be the last one beating.
So today I am trying to stand. Grief in one hand, Grace in the other. And I am trying simply just to stand. And remember that my heart will keep beating. And remember that everything I love will eventually be lost. And remember to keep loving it all anyways. Love it all, anyways.
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