Where Love Heals

I tossed and turned last night, waking from a dream about a friend and me in California, laughing as we walked into a Japanese restaurant. She said she had something important to tell me, and then I woke up. It was 3 a.m. I went for water, crawled back into bed, and drifted off again.

When I woke this morning, thoughts of my mom filled me, and I missed her more than I care to admit. She’s currently mad at me because I wanted to talk about some things she’d rather sweep under the rug. (because that’s healthy)

I cleaned the house, went for a run, turned up the music, and danced like no one was watching.

Later, I went to the park. As I swung back and forth, I noticed a young mother—maybe twenty-six, very pregnant—chasing her toddler across the playground. She glowed, absolutely radiant, wearing a long blue dress and Keds. Her short brown hair bounced as she fanned herself, laughing along with her little boy. He had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tiny mohawk. He laughed so hard that I couldn’t help but laugh too.

A million memories washed over me.

Being six years old, ponytails swinging, wearing a blue-and-white polka-dotted dress and white shoes, chasing butterflies with Grandma. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. Days on the farm with her and Grandpa—some of the happiest of my life. Riding Jack and Cody as if they were my own little ponies. Horseback riding with Shane, my favorite white horse, running free and feeling unstoppable.

Trips to Opryland with Mom on the days she was sober—roller coasters, her terrified laughter, the thrill of jumping back in line just to ride again.

I am overjoyed about the new changes coming to my life, yet a little afraid. Will I succeed? Will I truly help my patients? Will I be an asset to their lives?

I think of playing tennis with Emily, Joshua, Bo, and Jennifer, how awful we all were at first, and smile. The hours of practice paid off. Shooting hoops, trying to fit in, though maybe I was always meant to be a cheerleader.

I notice little practical worries too: I need to go grocery shopping for clean eating starting Monday. My MacBook battery barely lasts twenty-five minutes at full charge. And the house will be all mine for the next four days—one thing is certain: there will be a lot of dancing.

There are pieces of me that are gone forever, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same.

Yet somehow, I am happier than I’ve ever been. More comfortable in my own skin. For the first time, I’m not seeking validation from anyone.

Maybe the pieces of my heart that I lost will never be recovered.
Maybe the wound will always be slightly open.

…but I am alive.

The love and joy surrounding me now are keeping my heart so full that the missing pieces can’t cripple me.

I survived the storm.

I will always remember what I lost, but I have gained so much more.

I survived.

JMS