A Broken Soul to Mend

What do you do with a broken soul? Very few of us are lucky enough to have walked through life without having our heart trounced upon and torn asunder. Our soul, often a fragile thing, is something that can, in life, wither to near non-existence out of desperation to save what is left of what we know as 'self'.

Our lives are inextricably intertwined, all of us. Each serving a purpose in supporting either the nurture or the demise of that heart that is so tenuous perched on serenity or sadness. Case and point: My more than weekly visits to the local grocer has created and fostered a unique bond with those that work there. They know when I'm 'spoiling' my husband with his Rocky Road, and when my children have a sleepover by what I purchase. In turn, I asked them about their lives, how their college courses are going, what time the grandchildren are coming over to visit, and whether the wife got the application for soccer camp. It is a brief visit, but a nurturing one.

My visit the other day, quite like any other, was filled with sundries for the home. Upon checking out, the cashier said "You don't look like your cheerful self today ~ are you ok?". It was a bad day, it's been a grueling few years. I imparted a short comment about worrying about my children, and how difficult the present moment seemed. What came next was an amazingly earnest, brutally heart-opening moment.

"I worried myself. Had done so for years. Tried to protect and shelter my kids from the ups and downs of this world." the cashier started.

She stepped out from the small area behind the scanner and began bagging the last of my groceries. With a deep breath, she stopped, stared me directly in the eyes, and began again.

"My daughter had been given everything, I made certain that she went to a good school, fought for her when things weren't going right, and made sure that if she was emotionally uncomfortable, I would be there to take that problem away." Her tone deepened, her voice became quieter. She was sharing something lodged deep in her heart.

"My girl got out on her own, and couldn't handle it. She buried her emotions and problems with drugs and alcohol when I wasn't there to resolve her issues, because she never learned to deal with it by herself. She died of an overdose two years ago." My heart sank at her candidness; she had just opened up her chest cavity, bared her broken-ness, and was sharing it with me.

"Be grateful for the times you can't save them now. They will learn how to handle it, become stronger, and hopefully, a better person for it. This too shall pass."

My eyes began to well up with tears. Ache poured out of my heart, I was no longer thinking, but feeling completely, the anguish and lack of control that a parent really has. The feelings that we all have at times, when the world isn't working the way we need it to.

Tears streamed down my face, and the woman with a broken heart moved passed the bagging carousel to me. We gave one another a hug, knowing that there was nothing else we could do but share our hurt.

I left the store, still crying. I guess I needed it, and I guess my hurt helped my cashier feel that she was making some difference in someone else's world, view the problems at hand in a different light. I was reminded that we all carry a pain, an ache, a hurt. Something that can one day, hopefully, heal.

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