We went to Yorktown in Charleston, South Carolina. My husband loves the Navy, having been a corpsman in his youth. He wanted us to see the ships there. I have a hard time entering places with stagnant energy. It was hard to be in the ships. Lots of memories stored in the small spaces. A lot of times I just went outside.
We were up on top. My husband went to see the planes. I sat on a bench. The heat was horrible this past weekend. A woman asked if she could share the bench with me. I scooted over and we sat there in silence.
“It’s so hot here!” She said. “I’m melting away.”
“Here it’s okay. It’s an oven in there. I don’t know how these souls do it while out at sea. I admire their dedication. After seeing this I have a whole new respect for them.” I shared this as she began to fan herself with her hand.
“My son was in the Military.”
Her head lowered and I felt the grief. I felt her loss immediately in between the gaps of breath. I felt that inexplicable break that arrives when your heart has been ripped apart. Nothing else was said.
I went closer to her. Held her hand and said I was sorry. I looked into her.
There on a deck we sat in quietude. It was short lived when out little girl ran over to me. I let go of her and she thanked me. She got up and met her husband to leave. But I didn’t let go of her heart until that evening when we finally arrived home.
We have stories within stories. Some we share. Others we vault up in compartments that allow us to survive. The scars are deep and sacred. They connect us through humility and other levels of faith.
My heart goes out to all you folks who have lost someone. I can promise you that they are always with you. A part of them is left inside the cellular walls of your heart. You are never alone in your struggle. There are threads of love stitching us all together.
I’m here. I see you. I feel you. Others do as well. I love you. ~m.a.p.