Ode to our Broken Parts and Pieces

A small purple scar kisses Elias's shoulder bone, a line that once shone across his whole back, back when he fit inside the palms of my hands.

His hands dwarf mine now; he hands me down his t-shirts as his shoulders grow and grow and grow...

I know we all possess stitched together parts.

For Elias, it started with his heart. Day two out of the womb, not yet two-pounds, the surgeon's knife cut through translucent skin, lack of fat, developing nerves, to the miraculous muscle of his tiny heart, that stopped, at birth, but regained its beat thanks to the medical feats of men and women who bleed, just like the rest of us, but run when called to repair our broken parts and pieces.

At two weeks, and still less than two pounds, the scalpel found Elias's brain. It seemed impossible, insane, to trust another mere mortal to cut open our son's skull, to insert a tube into that mysterious place-- the source of all that we know, all that we do, all that we love.

But we signed the papers, gave our consent, and stood idle as they whisked him away with nothing to do but wait...

and wait...

Waiting is the hardest part.

That undefined zone, between expecting and knowing, where icicles of anticipation pound out a picture of what might be, following every "what if" scenario to a land where all doors shut.

Or open.

The perfectly placed shunt relieved the pressure in Elias's injured brain, skilled hands stitched his fragile skin, slow, steady, breath in, breath out, breath in...

Next came his eyes, surgery on his sky-blue portholes, with renewed hope to move together instead of apart. His wild roaming eyes that never looked at mine, one traveled North, while the other searched East, each moved independently, shimmering, shivering, quivering, rarely lying still.

(Elias's eyes, that now, still, rarely look at mine; though they move as one across the unknown landscapes of his views.)

My heart wanted to go under with him, to lie by my two-year-old son's side, to offer my body, my spirit, my eyes, to try to lessen his pain, to gain an understanding of what was happening inside my premature son's brain.

But they wheeled him away, and the door shut.

My signature of consent to Elias's surgeries repeatedly sliced me in two, ripped anew my sutured soul, my heart, that, though torn, grew and grew and grew...

And now I lie here, a bandage on my knee, recovering from ACL surgery, thinking about all the ways we break and all the ways we mend. All the ways we put ourselves, or others, back together again.

Whether we suffer from broken bones, broken hearts, broken promises, broken spirits, broken dreams, broken homes, we heal through the connection of one to another.

Love in action, as we support each other, as sisters and brothers.

Whether its the surgeon who answers the call, or the friend who catches you before you fall, the neighbor who knocks on your door, or the teacher who opens your world to more than you knew possible before, the mentor who frees you from despair, or the leader of your church or team or town who truly sees you standing there.

Like the nurse, who sees the person in the patient, who with utmost patience, explains the unimaginable in words, words that grace and embrace those jagged places carved by the swords of chance and circumstance.

Love, the golden thread that binds, that finds us all, even when we feel farthest from reach, when we break into thousands of countless pieces and see nothing but darkness ahead-- this is when the open places let light in, and we begin again, with hearts emboldened by the healing of our broken parts.

Hearts emboldened by the wreckage of our once, twice, countless, broken parts and pieces.

Hearts emboldened.

 

 

 

Emboldened hearts.

Comments

[Sara W Sutton]

Wow, Christy, this just floors me. It's so true, so typically overlooked, and so necessary to see. Thank you for bringing your words alive, and for sharing your reflections... I feel I haven't had/taken the time to reflect in this way, and you just put words to deeply buried understandings of our evolutions, and connections. Thank you! Sending healing thoughts and love to you and your family.

[Christy]

Your words Sara help to remind me to keep writing and sharing--thank you!

[Candice]

Beautiful ❤️❤️