This is Heartbreak

Heartbreak is when  you go through something emotionally wrenching that your heart is choked so tight that it disintegrates into a thousand pieces. What do I know about heartbreaks? A lot. I thought. I lost my sister when I was young, and my father when I was in another country. I was hungry. I was homeless. I suffered. Those were heartbreaks. But when I lost you, the pain was so much more than anything else I’ve ever gone through. I didn’t know it was possible to hurt this much.  There was no way my heart can be repaired. There was no hope. There was no silver lining. It was pure heartbreak.


Heartbreak was when I asked God to heal you and I came back to the ICU and you were brain dead. Heartbreak was when doctors asked for the time – it was the time of your death. Heartbreak was when I hugged you one last time before they took you away for the morgue. Heartbreak was when our first child was waiting for you to sit up from your coffin and walk out alive again. Heartbreak was when he wished for all of us to die too so we could be together in heaven.

Heartbreak was when our second child asked, ‘where is daddy’ and I didn’t know what to say. Heartbreak was when he talked to his closed fist pretending it’s you. Heartbreak was when he said ‘hug daddy,’ and you’re not here.

Heartbreak is missing you on your birthday, on our birthdays, on Christmas, on new year and on our wedding anniversary. Heartbreak is looking at all the other families in school and knowing that you will never attend our children’s graduation, and that you’ll never see them grow up. Heartbreak is when I do everything that we used to do together, knowing that there will never be us again, only me. Heartbreak is when I look up in the sky and realize how far apart we are. Heartbreak is when I wake up in the middle of night, wondering what time you’d be home and then realizing that you’ll never be home.

Heartbreak is living every single day without you. Heartbreak is knowing that I can’t be with you yet, no matter how much I want to. I am 37. If I get to live until 70, that means 33 years of life without you. Thirty three years of living with this heartbreak.

Comments