There is a beautiful
space inside of me where I dwell. When it is open, I feel as though I am
nestled among the stars. Other times, I can hardly stand to be in my own skin.
When I take a bath, I often put my head beneath the water and listen to my
heartbeat. There it is, thumping away in perfect rhythm. Thump thump. Thump
thump.
My mother was once my home. I lay protected in her womb. Safe from sounds that startle and words that sting. I listened to her heartbeat. I heard her every breath. Her thoughts ran through my umbilical cord and I knew her every wish. Being born is being wrenched away from comfort and what we know. We are thrust into the unknown.
I listened to my
baby’s heart before she was born. It was a strong heartbeat. When I pressed my
MP3 to the phone, my mother remarked excitedly, “It sounds like a washing machine!” But
my baby’s heart could not sustain her on its own. When I learned this news a
cold wind blew through my soul. And, for many months, I suffered in silence.
She’s three now. After her bath, she likes to run around naked and is
blissfully unaware of the fine white line on her chest. I pray that she will
always know just how lovely, beautiful, and amazing she is.
We are a circle, my
mother, my daughter, and me. Our hearts tie us together. Like ocean waves
crashing on the shore, my mother’s heartbeat fills my ears until her time here
is done. My daughter’s amazing heart will beat in her chest for many years to
come. And my heart... how long will it go on? How many more days will I lie in my
watery bath and hear its steady drum? My beautiful heart—my earthly home?
†I gave this as a gift to my mother for
her birthday a few years back along with a glass heart. I’m not sure she
appreciated the energy of the piece; but, I like it. It’s intimate and gives
voice to some of the pain I’ve experienced surrounding my daughter’s heart
surgery. Something I haven’t been able to write much about.