Posted: Tuesday, November 13, 2012 4:23:36 PM
Go figure. My doctors found a literal hole in my heart! I could have told them. I knew it was there. I could feel the gaping hole. All day, every day, everything that had any meaning fell through the hole, much like the hole that Alice in Wonderland fell through, only mine didn’t evolve into a magical land of make-believe.
No, my hole is a land of nothingness: A place where only tears and memories reside that make me miss him all the more. Every test the doctor’s wanted to perform that was painful, I’d ask for a few minutes to allow me to escape to my “happy place”. Philip was always my “hap-py place”, not just in this life, but always in our life to-gether.
Can love lost grow a hole? I’m told no, but I doubt they know what they’re talking about. Medicine is science and based on very specific, quantitative studies. Love is love. It’s based solely on the heart. Hence, a hole in the heart would be based only on the emotion of love lost.
Perhaps it’s not a doctor at all that I should seek for healing? Perhaps it’s a lovelorn therapist? Or would it be a Yenta? A Matchmaker like the one Barbra Streisand sings about: “Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match…” If not a love guru, a therapist or a matchmaker, who should I find to heal this hole in my heart?
Should I try a psychic healer? Oh, I know, I should see one of those TV evangelists. The one’s that put their sweaty palms on stranger’s foreheads. They mutter or shout something in a garbled language and their subject goes limp and falls straight away backwards and into the strong arms of bodyguard types at the ready. But, then again I’ve never seen what becomes of their hearts in need of healing. Do they get all better? Is their hole gone?
If not my physician or a therapist, or a Yenta, or a Matchmaker, or a love guru, or a lovelorn mistress, or a TV evangelist, who then should I seek? Who, pray tell can thread a needle and bind together two pieces of flesh sealing them to close my hole? Maybe sewing is not the answer at all; maybe super glue would do the trick. After all it binds everything, even fingertips if you’re not careful!
But then again, I’m really drawn to the idea of a Match-maker. Maybe it’s because I like hearing Barbra in my head singing, “Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match…”
However, as I contemplate fully, perhaps I’m going in the wrong direction entirely. Is it possible that what I really need is a physician who melds together the mind and the body? Could my broken heart actually bore a hole in my heart: A real, actual, tangible hole? Would that be the epitome of mind and body connection?
Hmm, where do I go from here? It’s true after all that the weaker I felt physically the sadder I became emo-tionally? How would that be measurable? There are days to be sure that all it takes is the image of him in my head and the tears flow. Sometimes it’s just the mention of his name, or someone, anyone asks me a simple, be-nign question such as, “Is Philip still your healthcare advocate?”
And I find I have no voice in which to reply. My lips quiver and try as I might to answer, the sadness over-comes me and I’m lost in the memory of my Philip, my Philippe’. Such a beautiful, captivating man; I look at his reflection framed throughout my house and my hand caresses them as if I could actually feel him.
I wish I could. I wish I could. I wish could. I think what I miss the most is the smell of him. I can’t define it be-cause he had no odor not even upon first waking. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t let him kiss me until I brushed my teeth. He’d say, “Kiss me. I don’t care.” And he didn’t…his love was so pure. He loved just for me. So, is it no wonder that I have a hole in my heart: An actual hole?
The expression “broken heart” truly defines me and the state of my heart. I’m broken hearted and I have a hole in my heart.