Home   >   Feature   >   Morning Heartbreak

Morning Heartbreak

By on March 12, 2017
nido vaccado

By Jeanette Meditz

I remembered as I hugged my large dog’s neck.
I looked out the same window that I had gazed out of for many, many years.

A young and strong boy waves at me with a proud smile as he swirls his pole about after jousting with his younger brother.
Her impish grin shines as she sinks the seesaw seat into the ground and bounces it up high, just one more time for mommy.
His music fills my ears as I recall night upon night of late night concertizing.
I love watching them racing around the back yard like the wind is trying to catch them.

I shake my memory head as I once again see their small, muddy hands and feet being vigorously scrubbed clean.
Internal laughter warms my heart as I recount the rabble-rousing mud fights between the five of them.
Baby wheels race across the lawn as she runs after her doggy, my sixth treasure.
Tiny eyes grin at me as she crawls faster than her older brother can. My precious seventh sweetheart’s squeals are still ringing in my ears.

Bubbles fly past my mind as I see the many hundreds that they are blowing in tandem as they try to create some kind of imaginary world record.
I watch in fascination as I see our eight sausage dogs racing after each other whilst being shepherded by one or another of their masters and mistresses.

Seven of them playing in the garden, cutting a caper here and there.
Seven brilliant smiles lighting up my day.
Seven heads laughing at their futures.
Seven sets of feet, alternately muddy then squeakily clean before dinner.
Seven sets of hands creating minute masterpieces of clay.
Seven happy kids munching on cookies.
Seven audible sighs after sipping from hot cups of cocoa.
Seven heads bent in concentration over books.
Seven mesmerized sets of ears enjoying their favorite music.

It’s all empty now.
Their laughter has moved on.
My home is a solitude-filled sanctuary of what once was.

Their feet no longer muddy my floors.
I hate cleaning the tiles for fear that I’ll somehow make them too clean.
Vacuuming seems an impossibly arduous task as I strive to enshrine the invisible but sacred footprints of the children who used to walk here.

My house is a wreck compared to the orderliness that it used to operate under.
Laundry mountains have gradually lessened to meager piles that belong to my husband and me.
Now, I delay folding clothes on purpose because I can’t stand the image of an empty dryer stand.

The front door closet holds umpteen pairs of abandoned shoes.
I haven’t yet had the heart to clear these once necessary soles away.
I dread replacing the broken entry door that rattles on its hinges because of years of hurrying kids who slammed it shut it their haste.

Old coats that used to be new, and fitted like gloves, hang frumpily as if awaiting a summons to spread warmth.
Toys lie strewn and set aside in special positions like fabled cities of dreams now being fulfilled.
The playroom resembles a mausoleum that stands in honor of childhood.
It’s still too heart wrenching to muster the courage to organize dolls and trucks.
I have the boxes and the storage packaging to store mementos for future generations.
Opening the first box lid will be a mammoth-sized start.

My kitchen is quiet and the dishes are left to lie in the sink, sometimes.
Oddly, the messy plates remind me of times when a young voice would bust into my domain for a quick snack or two and then complain because once again, there aren’t any clean dishes or cutlery to use.
It never entered my mind to bark at them to wash their own.
Motherhood hindsight is a telling thing.

I sit inside the voices of my mind as they keep telling me that my emotional ramblings are pathetic.
As odd as this may sound, at least they keep me busy thinking instead of crying.

I chide myself for being a silly, reminiscing homemaker who feels as though she has lost her job.
Quite honestly, although I know that some women cannot wait for days to spend alone, I am adrift in an ocean of loss.
Making plans to stay busy, I get angry in a nanosecond because I feel lost in a whirlwind of unnecessary ‘to-do’ lists.
I really liked my life as it used to be.

My body is aching with a phantom motherhood pain that I cannot seem to release.
Trying to be gentlewomanly, I am, really am, admitting to myself that this is me coming to terms with missing my beloved children on every level.
When this will ease, I have no idea.
Until it does, my face will remain wet at different times during the day.
I will permit tears to fall as I set my sadness free whilst snuggling into the beloved and warming welcome of my dear dog’s neck.

********

jeanette

Jeanette Meditz writes about the joy of being a woman. She encourages women to embrace the sacred discipline of self-care with an emphasis upon pleasurable living.

For thirty years, she has been married to the father of her many children and has been a stay-at-home-mom. She blogs at JeanetteMeditz.

About simply...woman!

We encourage spreading the message of knowledge and wisdom. We appreciate and thank our featured partners for their articles. All information provided on Simply…Woman online magazine is for reference only; the content is based on the authors’ experiences and therefore is not intended as a substitute to the services of a fully qualified professional. Although every reasonable effort is made to present current and accurate information, Simply…Woman makes no claims, promises or guarantees about the accuracy, completeness or adequacy of the information.