I don’t cry very often. Despite my tendency to purposely plunge myself into environments that lay claim to more than their fair share of human suffering, pain, and tragedy, I have become increasingly good at keeping it together. I suppose it comes with the territory. You don’t do it if it wrecks you every time.
But, every once in a while, my heart breaks. Into 17 pieces. And when it does, I cannot – for the life of me – keep it together.
Last night, it happened. Driving home from work, I absolutely fell apart. And whatever that snowball metaphor is and what it is supposed to represent happened somewhere deep inside my soul. The thing that always happens…happened. One patient reminds me of another. One sorrow-filled story brings to memory something else that broke my heart and I tucked away for a "more appropriate time". And the alligator tears and hysterical sobs become so overwhelming that I seriously question how on earth I will ever regain any degree of composure. Even when my good sense tries to get the better of my internal drama-queen and I make the effort to “accentuate the positive”, I end up overcome by the feeling that there is nothing positive to focus on because one person’s gain is another’s loss.
Irrational. Overwhelming. All-consuming.
And every once in a while, when my heart is breaking, I can’t help but ask my God why he made us so raw. Why are our hearts so fragile? Why do we feel emotion in such an intense way?
And then I experience this:
And it all makes sense. If our hearts didn’t have the potential to be broken, we wouldn’t be able to love. If we didn’t care about anyone, we would never be able to experience the intense satisfaction of relationship. If nothing was personal, then nothing would be personal. If we didn’t feel true sorrow, we would also never feel true joy. It’s what makes us human. And alive. And us.
I don’t cry very often. Despite my tendency to purposely plunge myself into environments that lay claim to more than their fair share of human suffering, pain, and tragedy, I have become increasingly good at keeping it together. I suppose it comes with the territory. You don’t do it if it wrecks you every time.
But, every once in a while, my heart breaks. Into 17 pieces. And when it does, I cannot – for the life of me – keep it together.
Last night, it happened. Driving home from work, I absolutely fell apart. And whatever that snowball metaphor is and what it is supposed to represent happened somewhere deep inside my soul. The thing that always happens…happened. One patient reminds me of another. One sorrow-filled story brings to memory something else that broke my heart and I tucked away for a "more appropriate time". And the alligator tears and hysterical sobs become so overwhelming that I seriously question how on earth I will ever regain any degree of composure. Even when my good sense tries to get the better of my internal drama-queen and I make the effort to “accentuate the positive”, I end up overcome by the feeling that there is nothing positive to focus on because one person’s gain is another’s loss.
Irrational. Overwhelming. All-consuming.
And every once in a while, when my heart is breaking, I can’t help but ask my God why he made us so raw. Why are our hearts so fragile? Why do we feel emotion in such an intense way?
And then I experience this:
And it all makes sense. If our hearts didn’t have the potential to be broken, we wouldn’t be able to love. If we didn’t care about anyone, we would never be able to experience the intense satisfaction of relationship. If nothing was personal, then nothing would be personal. If we didn’t feel true sorrow, we would also never feel true joy. It’s what makes us human. And alive. And us.