These Simple Things

When your heart has been broken, when pain, grief and sorrow threaten to pull you under into the murky abyss, you’re forced to dig deep.

When that pain is associated with a loved one – a partner or parent – the pain becomes unbearable. When it’s a child, a piece of you existing alongside you, it’s torturous.

The Earth’s axis tilted under our feet a few weeks ago. Took my feet out from under me, the breath from my lungs and the joy of being.

I dug deep. Walked on the beach even when I could barely lift my feet. At times it felt like I was going backwards, no forward momentum left. Sank to my knees, sobbed, wept. Got up. Kept walking.

Fresh flowers by his bed, scented candles, low lights. Simple hearty meals, movies together on the couch. Aching to reach out and grab him. Each movement considered, restrained, sometimes clumsy.

At night, we clung to each other. He wiped my tears. I wiped his. We lay awake for hours and hours. Not talking. Listening to each other’s thoughts. Sometimes there are no words. Hollow people.

And now the simple things are more precious than ever. Our home, our family, each other.

Back to the beach, back to the yoga mat, back to the pool, honest conversations with friends. They rub my arm, listen. I breathe out. I try a smile but it hurts so I hang my head, concetrate on my coffee instead. Not yet ready for kindness.

I write about simple things. Simple pleasures. In times of pain and sadness, I cling to them. These are the things I know to be true.

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  Brighton Beach – Michelle Budge