“We were broken, brittle and fragile. The question was, were we still precious to each other? Or, instead of everything falling into place, had it fallen into pieces?” ~Megan Hart
I have just returned from an interesting week. I was unable to write about it yesterday, so I did what was necessary. I taught my 2 yoga classes, and then, laid around in bed the remainder of the afternoon. Processing. The word “brittle” came to mind and I was surprised. I don’t think of myself as brittle and yet, it was the word I kept revisiting. This morning, I googled “brittle” and found this quote. I finally realized why I was feeling this way. Although I thought I was going to North Dakota to say good bye to my father, I hadn’t realized that I would also be confronting ghosts. The ghosts of 3 children who were divided and whose lives were irrevocably altered in one moment. As we pulled into the alley behind our last shared home, my throat clamped shut. I realized that I was holding my breath. I saw that we were both remembering. Reliving the moment. Leaving behind. Being left. Losing everything. Broken. Brittle. Fragile.
So, we sat in the memories. We shared our stories. Different childhoods. Different experiences. Abandonment the only commonality. We made connections. We found healing. 3 adults with fulfilling marriages and happy children. Somehow, we did this. We exorcised our demons and we built lives.
And as my father moves to palliative care, I am grateful I had an opportunity to return to Minot and say my final goodbye. I am grateful that I never have to return. I am grateful for my sister and my brother who have carried pieces of my heart which is now mended. <3