Unbreak My Heart
A line from ‘Runaway Train’ which stops me in my tracks every time I try to play it:
‘I go where no-one else goes, I know what no-one else knows…’
The last few months have been tough: losing Mam, Bob’s birthday, the 30th anniversary of our meeting… it’s been a strange sad time.
We tend to forget the tough parts of relationships when we lose the one we love, which is human and normal, I guess; and yet even the hard times together seem like heaven when you no longer have a future you planned on with the one you love, even if those plans were just being the way you were: that feeling of ‘God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world’.
Experiencing something life-changing, and disguising it – wandering around as if everything is normal when inside we’re churning with pain and despair – takes its toll. No-body knows what we know, has experienced just exactly that thing we’re feeling, and we get through the day one minute at a time, doing what we must to survive it.
Maybe something reminds us of a painful time. Christmas does it for me: cycling down Stephen Street on a dark rainy evening coming back from St James’s almost four years ago, and wondering why people were doing things like shopping, and holding hands, and laughing – normal things. My heart was aching with loss and fear – couldn’t they see that? Of course not. Nor should they.
One of my closest friends has experienced a tragedy very similar to ours, and we share our thoughts on these things. And yet I’m sure she’d also say that no-one else knows what she knows. Each one of us, carrying these emotions, is a one-person club.
Every day I think how lucky I am – know how lucky I am – and I think of my family and friends and colleagues who look out for me, and am sure I’m blessed. Don’t know who’s looking out for me but they’re doing a bloody good job. And yet…