I know how to hold on.
How to push. Force. Sweat. Grunt. Dig deep. Grit my teeth. And get shit done.
I'm fiercely talented at keeping a grudge alive.
I know how to stay focused. Eyes on the prize. Nose to the grindstone.
I don't give up. Nor do I give in. Until the universe beats it into me.
Surrender's just not my strong-suit.
And sometimes this strength has moved mountains in my life. It's gotten me through death and divorce. It has finished a marathon, published two books, and paid off more than a half-million in debt.
But sometimes this strength has been my weakest link.
Because anything too rigid.
And I did. Well, my heart did.
And when it comes to a broken heart, no amount of pushing, forcing, sweating, digging deep, grunting or gritting of teeth will get that shit healed. (Trust me... I've tried.)
The sweet innocent bystanders (who love me very much) watched over me while I tried to recover.
They had wise words for me that included the words "surrender" and "let go."
Which, of course, made me want to punch them in the face.
I don't LET go. I don't know HOW to let go.
Know how to work. Harder. Better. Faster.
I don't know how to just surrender to pain. To a broken heart. To however-the-fuck-long-it-takes-for-this-to-go-away.
I want to hire a personal-heart-trainer to get me back in shape so that I can get over this once and for all. I want to do anything other than to just surrender to it.
And right in the middle of all of this.
The twelve year old son of one of our dear Rowdy mommies, Allison. We watched in real time on our forum. We read the posts as the unthinkable happened.
Rowdy prayers could not stop this one.
And Rowdy prayers might not be able to mend this one either.
And at some point, someone who loves her very much (hell, it might even be me) might tell Allison words like "surrender" and "let go."
And she'll say she can't.
And that she doesn't know how.
And she might ball her hand into a fist to punch me in the face.
And then I'll tell her to go ahead and make that fist.
Hold it tight.
Hold all that anger. All that sadness. All that broken-heartedness. All that powerlessness.
As tight as she possibly can.
And then I'll tell her to turn her palm up.
And to slowly open her hand.
Let the anger float away.
And the sadness.
Let the broken-heartedness drip to the ground.
Let the powerlessness turn to dust.
And then we'll see that what's left is love.
Because love never lets go.
Love never leaves.
And the same goes for me and my broken heart.
I held it in my fist. And opened up my palm.
And blew away the remnants of the betrayal. And the fury. And the sadness.
And what was left.
What's always left.