But, there is sometimes no way to see a broken heart unless you yourself carry one inside and know how it feels.
I have spent the past week surrounded by the love of those who know my symptoms, because they have suffered from the same injury.
It was refreshing to look into their eyes and see understanding, to be able to talk about things everyone else is tired of hearing, and to take that step forward from some of that heartache together.
I was holding my Great-Niece, Brooklyn, in my arms when she bent to the side and bumped her head. She didn't cry, she just looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes and rubbed her booboo.
I asked, "Do you want me to kiss it?"
"Uh-Huh," she said and tilted her head toward me to allow me to reach the spot.
"Is it better?" I asked.
"Is all beddur," she replied and immediately began wiggling again, secure in the arms of someone who loves her, knowing that if another booboo happens there is someone waiting to "Kiss it and make it all better."
I know just how she feels.
To my precious family:
We didn't sit around and mope and whine, but it was nice to be with those who have that same heart defect that I do, just knowing that someone else knows how it feels.
This past week was like the Balm of Gilead for my soul, just knowing that love survives even death.
And I do love you, each of you, not only for our common ground, but because of who you are, who you have become, and that belonging that is there.
Thank you for every single moment and the reminder that the tribe has survived.
"Is SO MUCH beddur now!"