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A couple of weeks ago, during one of my many late-night risings with my now 8-week old baby boy, I sat holding him and thinking about how much I loved him. And then of course I thought of my daughters, and thinking of my oldest brought the usual tears to my eyes. The tears this time were due to the idea that I was loving her sister and brother with a broken heart. How awful! Is that all they get? I swore after her death to never give them only part of myself, to never let losing her steal me away from them. I've tried as hard as I can to live fully with them as I did with her. But my broken heart, is that all I have to offer?
Then I remembered a book a read recently. I've read many, many books and magazines thanks to my time in the hospital after my c-section and time spent with a breastpump. The book wasn't great, I can't even remember the title. But in it a character describes having a door in your heart open each time you love someone new. I like that idea--that each person opens a door to a room that I have never before visited. I think we sometimes lock doors, but that's up to us, not anyone else. I'm sure I have some locked doors--old loves, old friends who've betrayed me, mostly people who weren't meant to have my love. I don't think I've locked the door that belonged to my firstborn. And losing my daughter doesn't mean that the door has closed or the room is gone. It's all there, just maybe redecorated. Or maybe I sit there by myself, rather than with her, but I can still go in, still open the door and visit the room whenever I want. It's harder some days than others but I can't imagine not loving her.
So my heart is open, open to new loves, to new doors and rooms for each new person. And I love my baby, his older sisters, friends and family with my open heart.
