Live to the Max

They tell me I’m strong.

Am I strong?

They say they’ve never seen me so broken.

Am I broken?

The answer is yes and yes.

I am both.

One moment I’m the source of strength in the family. The next, I’m hanging by a thread.

What couldn’t phase me today might devastate me tomorrow.

I stood on my own two feet during your viewing. I spoke at your funeral. I don’t know how, but I made it. I guess that’s strength.

Months later, a nostalgic song plays and I’m suddenly trapped in a zombie-like state until the song ends, and the momentary darkness lifts. I guess that’s brokeness.

How can I be so unbreakable and yet so fragile?

I guess that’s the mystery of love. It is the source of both great strength and unimaginable brokenness.

Maybe this is what it is to be a grieving mother.

Strength?

Brokenness?

Yes and yes.

Solid, yet irreversibly crushed.

Immovable, yet so easily pushed over the edge.

It’s an unbreakable fragility. And it’s kind of beautiful.