Photography and text by: Corey Amaro
The house stood still, while memories ran around like children playing peek a boo from every corner. I sat and watched. The candles flickering light added a softness, so did French Husband reading at the dining room table. As if on cue he looked up, caught my weak smile, and asked if I was okay. I nodded, though the children giggled as they hid behind my chair.
Memories are like that provoking as to look back and see things in a new light. Reminding us of feelings we tucked away as neatly as the Christmas decorations back in the closet.
They can catch us off guard.
"It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses. " Colette
Isn't that so true...
The other day I had to go to the hospital for a check up. The doctor asked if I was stressed, or worried since what I felt was a heart attack was unbased. She said, "Your heart is strong, there isn't any sign of heart problems. Are you sure you aren't stressed, worried about something, over worked?"
I answered no and believed it.
Annie listened as I told her I was fine, and that the doctor had said it wasn't my heart. I leaned back in my chair as I told her, "The doctor asked if I was stressed. Isn't that silly. I am probably the less stressed I have ever been in my life, well except for the time I was in the monastery."
Annie reached out and took my hand in hers, "Corey you miss your children. When you want to cry don't hold it back, just cry. Your heart can only hide so many tears before it starts to ache."
"But my children are happy. So I should be happy too..." The flood gate, the one that was bolted, the one I have stood in front of believing was strong came down.
Annie smiled that knowing soft smile, "There, there let it be, let it go... now you know the price of loving. A mother's heart is never her own."