My beating heart. It only weighs 8 ounces. In two days it will have been beating outside of my mother's womb for sixty-four and a half years. I am very grateful.
My glass heart. It only weighs 8 ounces. It fits perfectly within the clasped palms of my hands and its red, blue, green, clear and glittery glass is made of ash. The ash of Mount St. Helen's that erupted 6 months before I got married in 1980.
It calms me and soothes me and grounds me when held in my hands. When held against my anxious, beating heart.
Each heart weighs 8 ounces. Each is extremely durable and each is extremely breakable.
The one inside of me carries so much, as do all human hearts. In my work I caution people to be mindful of their physical hearts in grief because they can very truly hurt. Sometimes we need to seek medical care for such pain. The heart carries all that it means to be human.
AND.
A very full heart can explode with joy and wonder. Such is the case when an absolute picture of Triumph is set before us. Such was the case last night when I got to see and speak with and listen to an extended member of my family. A younger member who has endured so many challenges in her life and, yet, there she was on the screen telling me about her very good life now. A Triumph in itself. A Triumph of her heart and all of those who love her.
When the heart inside my body is going too fast, is carrying too much, is truly too tired for its years, the heart on the outside of my body, when held close and tightly helps regulate me. It grounds me. It reminds me of the solidness of earth, even when it explodes, and it reminds me I am here, I am needed, I am loved.
Eight ounces. Half a pound. That's all.
That's all it takes to keep us going.
Triumph.
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