“When I was little did you ever just look at me and fear that your heart would burst?” – phone call to mom.
I am not an effusive person. I am not known for gushing or unrestrained emotion.
I distinctly remember the moment cuddled up on the couch with these three unbelievable creatures that came into my life, knocked it all around and wound up setting it right in ways I didn’t even know it needed righting. Sitting, reading Chronicles of Narnia, laying all over each other and looking at them, tears began falling down my face and I feared my heart would break. Not break like jilted lover break, that kind of heart break I can take, this kind of heart break felt like my body wasn’t capable of holding the amount of love I felt looking at these little people sprawled all over me. Every love song, every terribly written teenage poem about the life ending heartbreak when Johnny walked out (now what rhymes with heartbreak or should I use Johnny) all of them broke through the shell around my unmoved heart. I sat and stared at the beauty of these three people and there was nothing else. My children loving me so much, needing me so much, trusting me so much as the words of C.S. Lewis swirled through the air. We were just there and I wept at the beauty.