Love
someone so much it breaks your heart.
When I first
began making my list of Things to do by 30, I knew I needed to include something
about love on there. You see, I’ve lived
until almost 30 and never truly had my heart broken by love. I’ve felt bitterly devastated, broken into
tiny pieces, mournful, and achy, but I’ve never felt like romance had ever
broken my heart the way it would if I’d truly felt the mad love they say we
should feel.
But how could I
write that down? First off, the implication
of experiencing that meant falling deeply in love, and then having it ripped
away. Which I was not down for. And secondly, the fact that it’s what an ambiguous
“they” says “should” happen automatically means it’s something I should be
cautious about aiming for. Lastly, love
cannot be planned. I’ve known that from
a very young age; you cannot plan when and how and if you will fall in love and
how the love will go.
So I didn’t put
it on my list. But I knew it was
something that should (the real should, not the they say it should kind of
should) happen in my life, and felt pretty certain that living until 30 without
feeling that was wrong.
And then I had a
classroom emergency. It was after the
moments of kneeling on the floor next to a student I adore who had overdosed on
painkillers by the second hour of the day and was having a seizure in my arms
on the floor of a computer lab; after having a class watch as I told him, “just
keep breathing, baby” over and over as he struggled to do so; after my first
call to 911; after feeling his jaw lock shut stronger than my now spit-covered fingers
could ever pry open; after I saw the police take over the situation and hold my
boy’s head and get my class to the library; after the paramedics pulled up to
the curb and my only coherent thinking was “I thought he was joking. Save him.” on repeat; after composing myself
before the library doors where my stunned class waited for me; after walking in
and seeing their faces and losing my voice and having them hug me; after all of
us sitting in islands for a couple minutes before I got chess from the
librarian and we pressed ourselves into little worlds together around two
tables; after sobbing in my mentor’s arms and then getting through the rest of
the day…after all of that, as I stood before my stove at home baking brownies
for my whole students I would see the next day I realized I loved so much more
deeply than I could ever have realized before that day.
I do love madly-
my mistake has simply been was thinking that kind of love had to be
romantic. What I need to do by 30 is
realize the point actually is to love deeply the whole time I am here, from the
time my feet hit the ground until they go back into it. Right through the 30th birthday,
without it being a mile marker of anything more than a piece of cake. And to be ok with the fact that the nonromantic
love might break my heart even more than a significant other ever possibly
could, because the week after having an ambulance carry away one of MY kiddos
has ripped my heart open wider than feels comfortable. More open and more aching and more of a chasm
than could possibly be managed and filled and taken care of. I spent the week dumping love into every one
of the 117 I had left in my classroom, knowing with aching certainty that some
hurt just as much as the one we were missing, knowing that I couldn’t possibly
love them enough to take that away and having that break my heart just as much
as it already had been.
Needless to say I
also slept a lot the rest of the week. And
I gave my dog a lot of hugs. And I texted
my mom, who told me that my heart would adjust and go on and I would be a
better person. And I wanted desperately to
be around people, but not to have them talk (which is hard to invite people to
do). And I’m still waiting for my heart
to shrink back to size, or at least to stop feeling like a floppy, stretched
out balloon in my chest.
The truth is,
maybe after my brother’s death I didn’t think I could feel that intensely
again, or I’ve actually spent effort in not doing so. Regardless, it was altogether new, yet ultimately
very familiar to have the heartbreak in my house. Maybe it’s been with me all along; a dormant,
shadowy beast that somehow makes me stronger by making me feel weak.
Anyway, here’s
to love breaking my heart by the time I’m 30.
Turns out it’s happened a couple times, and as much of a better person
as it can make me….I’m selfishly hoping it doesn’t happen again anytime
soon.
Transmission
ended. (Have I mentioned I also have spent
a lot of time comfort watching Stargate Atlantis?)
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