​JOINED AT THE HEART – Carrying Grief and Love by Pennie Hunt

Painting of J.T. by Nancy Chappell

When everyone else’s memory has faded, mine remains in vivid color. This week of his birthday, he would have been 41.​ An age I will never see him at, but I remember him clearly at 22 and every age before that.

It has been 18 years, 4 months, and 2 days since he left. It has been 18 years, 4 months, and 2 days that I have carried this grief.

I carry other grief. ​The grief of my grandparents, parents, and friends. But those have softened and faded with time. His grief is different. Heavier. Stronger. Intense.
This grief has woven itself in, out, and around every vein, artery, muscle, and bone in my body. Its invasion manipulated the structure of me physically and mentally until it ever so slightly bumped into the design of my DNA, permanently changing the person I was into the person I am now. 

I became fragile and fractured and yearned for the weakened part of me to be seen. Instead, I hid it under the mask and facade of strength. After this much time, people expect me to be over it, past it, and to let it go. When​ others grew tired of talking about him, I learned to be safe in my silence. To the outside world, my grief slowly became increasingly invisible as I buried it deeper and deeper into my heart.

This grief has an emotional durability that holds the capacity to control my tears and laughter at the sound of a song, the sight of a skateboard, or the memory of his laugh. Grief can show itself in uncharacteristic ways. On rare days, it has reached out as anger, sarcasm, moodiness, or extreme quiet.

In the quiet times of reflection, I feel the cool air of his presence and the comfort of knowing that he never left and that he has just changed.

My muscle memory pulls me back to feeling my arms cradling him in the middle of the night when he was a baby, and my fingers tickling his beard as a young man.

For all these years, I have walked on the top of a picket fence, balancing this grief with the rest of my life, understanding that by leaning too far one way will tumble me into the dark, dirty hole of despair, and leaning too far the other way throws me into forgetting him. The pain of my feet as they touch each pointed picket of the fence keeps me keenly aware of both sides while living my life in the middle, holding firmly to a space of love and gratitude.

Gratitude became my balancing rod, my life preserver, and my center of gravity. I realized I didn’t have to be grateful for everything that grief delivered to me - the pain, the nightmares, and the fear, will never receive a thank you. Grief moved through the cells of my body, clearing out what doesn’t matter and changing me into a person who appreciates what does.

I learned to be grateful for the gift of him in my life and for being his mom, even if it was for a short time. Gratitude leads me to small sparks of memories and the enjoyment of love in simple moments. Whenever my balance wavers, I hold tightly to ​my foundation of gratitude.

Science tells us that microchimerism is when a placenta implants in the uterus, and cells from the fetus may enter the mother’s body and vice versa. These cells are often found in the mother’s heart and lungs. This explains why I have always said my son and I were, and are, joined at the heart.

It is comforting to know that when his soul relocated to heaven, some of my DNA went with him, and some of his DNA stayed with me.

With every beat of my heart and with every breath I take, he is with me. Until the breath is my last, I will also quietly carry and honor the grief I have for him. And… if you ever want to talk about him with me… he is right here in the space he has held for 41 years - joined at my heart.
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                                                  Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                          Grief and love never totally leave your body.
                                  They stay forever joined at the heart. 
                            ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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YOUR TURN...        
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                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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