I’m The One With The Broken Heart


I had to meet someone I didn’t know.  We’d only had conversations by text or phone and arranged to meet at a coffee shop.  She said she’ll be the one with the bright green coat.  

I was thinking of a characteristic she could identify me by so we could easily spot each other. My immediate thought was, “I’ll be the one with the broken heart.”  Luckily, before the thought crossed my lips as words, I stopped them.  After a weird pause, I just said, “Okay.”

I met her and it was fine.

However, I couldn’t stop wondering if I look as sad as I feel.  When I walk into the coffee shop or grocery store or wherever, can people tell I’m broken-hearted?  I especially wonder about the places I go to regularly where the people know my face but know nothing about me.  Do they think, “I wonder what happened.  Something is different.”

I definitely feel different.  I used to look up.  Can people tell that I’m changed?  

The coffee shop where I am a regular— can they tell I am different?  That deep down into the core of my body I am forever altered.  That I am just the shell of who I used to be?  That I go there for the caffeine because I stayed up too late the night before?  That I get a salad to go three times a week because I wouldn’t feel like eating anything otherwise?  Do they wonder where the sparkle in my eyes and the strength in my back went?

Can people tell just by looking at me that I’m the one with the broken heart?

Author: Admin

I was happily married for almost 24 years. My husband and I had were raising two children. Shortly before our 24th anniversary, Tom died suddenly of heart attack. My world stopped. With kids (ages 16 and 13) there isn't the luxury of mourning at my own pace. I had to roll up my sleeves and help each with their own grief all the while managing mine. It is very hard. I am sad that some of you may have found this blog as you are trying to navigate your own traumatic event. Let me be here for you. Grief is fickle. Just when you think you are strong enough to manage a second, a minute, an hour, Grief changes her mind and punches you in the gut. You are not alone. I'm going through it, too. I am here for you.

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