Heartbreak

There are some dates that pierce the soul. August 17th is one of those for me. On August 17th, 1981 I had just gotten out of the shower.  I heard the front door open. I heard hushed voices. It was eight o'clock Monday morning.
There at the end of the hall were my brother and  Peggy.
Peggy lunged toward me. Arms open.
"Oh Amy, your father...."
With those words, everything changed forever.
I was twenty-two. He was sixty-four.

Today, thirty-four years later, the memory of that shocking day still has the power to pierce me. Every detail as vivid as if it were yesterday.

August 17th has hung over me today like a shroud.
I am not sure why I felt grief again so many years later except for the fact that so many people I know and love are facing terrible health challenges and loss. The specter of death is all around me.
Breast Cancer.
ALS.
Pancreatic Cancer.
Alzheimer's.

Terrible suffering.

My father's sudden death thirty-four years ago seems like a blessing.
No suffering. No hospital bed. No chemo. No radiation. No dementia.
Just a tanned, trim, sixty-four year-old body with clogged arteries that dropped dead after jogging to work that Monday morning.
 What a way to go.
On August 17th, 1981, my father's heart stopped.
And mine broke.

Perhaps my grief today was not really about my father.
August 17th simply reminded me of my friends and family whose hearts will break like mine did thirty-four years ago on a date that will pierce their soul.

My friend who tragically lost her fifteen-year-old son when he was struck in a crosswalk on his scooter on the way to gym said it best when she said,
"You never know what you're gonna get."

For all the cancer patients
For all the wheel-chair bound
For all those with memory loss
For all those confined to a bed
For all the hospice workers
For all the caregivers
For all who suffer
For all the broken hearted

I bind my heart to yours on August 17th.