What Becomes of the Brokenhearted


It was likely the early weeks of her life some 18 years ago that I started preparing my heart for this moment. Curled up on a bed, nursing a broken heart.

Eighteen years is a long time of preparation. I’m still not prepared.

Whether it’s long distance love or something else she can’t quite verbalize, I haven’t any words and I’m fairly certain I don’t need to verbalize either. At a moment like this it’s okay to simply ‘be’.

Waiting truly is the hardest part. It’s even harder when you’re just 17. Oh, how I wish I could make it all better. The toughest lesson in life is learning to dust off, grab your bootstraps, and keeping going. You press on with an empty feeling inside where warm fuzzies once flourished.

Angel, I wish I could make it go away. Make it all better.

As I type that sentence and she is curled up on my leg, a soft voice quietly asks, “Can you make me feel better?”

I’m speechless. That’s okay.

If only a Hello Kitty pencil pouch could make things better. Those days are long gone…

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