Blending The Broken Heart

Upon first glance at this paper heart, it probably strikes you as something a child created. The design is simple, colorful and easy to execute. It may inspire thoughts of love, or even childlike wonderment. 

This was the work of yours, truly. Clearly, I am not an artist. I created this as part of a personal project I am working on. It has taken some time to surrender to the process, rather than focus on the outcome. The lesson is one that mirrors my daily life.

 Art and creativity have been extremely healing for me throughout my journey. The artistic process has proven to be a wonderful tool for self discovery. This project is no exception. The image that you see is not the original image I created. In preparing to illustrate the heart, I had a vision in my head of what the finished product would look like. I imagined a vivid red heart in the center, with magnificent yellow rays emanating out of it. It felt like a design that I should be able to execute. Much like life, it did not turn out the way I expected. This parallels what the creation of our family has been. When my husband and I decided to have children, we just expected that we would be able to watch them grow. It seemed to be a fair expectation, one that is relatively normal. Until it wasn’t. 

When life didn’t go as we expected, we were faced with the decision of how to continue breathing. Most days we adapt to life as I adapted the illustration on this paper heart.  Working with oil pastels, like the ones I used here, allow the artist to blend and soften as he or she creates, enabling the illustration to take on a different shape without abandoning the original creation completely. 

Connected to Christian, in a moment of surrender and inspiration, I was guided to soften the center heart and blend it into Christian’s rays of love. The image began to change. The energy of it shifted. No longer a red heart with yellow rays, but a red heart surrounded by soft orange hues. Once two separate entities, blended back into one. 

Closely examining the heart lends itself to further interpretation. The orange is brighter in some spots than others. Christian’s pure rays of love still reach the outer edges of the heart. The beams are both focused and soft. He continues to make his own impact and work through me. The center heart is beautiful but a bit messy, a bit misshapen. Darker clumps of red stray throughout the larger heart. Encasing it all is the color purple in a non linear, raggedy design. Blended in some spots, less diluted in others. It symbolizes me. 

Unbeknownst to me at the start of this project, what unfolded at the conclusion, depicted life after child loss. It was created without even realizing the deeper meaning until I reflected on it. 

Christian is not able to be seen by human eyes anymore. He is felt by heart, always here, woven into the illustration of my life. He works with me and through me. The childlike quality he blesses my life with makes me smile every day. Somehow he has mastered the ability to continue to pull pranks from Heaven and it is reflected in this piece.  

Our beautiful, blended life is messy. The lines blur between the seen and unseen. At the center of it all is heart, full of love and hope, emanating rays of light that are sometimes clear and focused. Other times they are blended and softened. Forever interwoven, forever connected, forever love. Christian is never gone.    

Debut Chapbook Is A Bridge To Hope

There is solidarity in grief, specifically between parents who have lost children. To have experienced this deep tragedy is to understand the sorrow that consumes another’s heart. In my travels over the years I have met many grieving parents. Although it is not a title that defines us it is a piece of our identity.

Most recently I met Amanda Russell, a fellow mother who suffered this devastating loss. To meet her today one would not know the difficulties she has experienced in the past. Every time I see her she has a smile on her face and exudes a warm energy. She is pensive and bright. Her inviting smile is framed by a head of bouncy curls. Even her curls seem to reflect her approach to life. 

It is hard to imagine Amanda in a place where her emotions were so dark and blinding. Yet these searching, dark emotions took hold of her and served as creative motivation behind the collection of poems in her debut chapbook, BARREN YEARS. When Amanda was 22 and newly married, she became pregnant with twins. In a devastating turn of events, during her second trimester, she miscarried. The grief that consumed her after the miscarriage led to her expression through poetry.

Amanda was no stranger to writing prior to her miscarriage. She says, “I have always turned to creative writing when I need to make sense of something”. She goes on to say, “The miscarriage was hard for me to talk about out loud because I would cry or not find the words I wanted, but paper allows drafts”. Through her writing she was able to find solace. The creation of something new allowed her to process the events and devastation of what she lost.

Each person grieves differently. No two people are the exact same. Some of us use the same coping mechanisms and walk the same bridges to hope, but our timing may be different. Some of us are open to sharing feelings but some of us have trouble. Grief and death, especially untimely deaths, are uncomfortable topics for many people. Amanda’s description of not being able to find the words to speak but being able to find the words through the drafting process is beautiful.

It is extremely difficult to put emotions into words on a first pass. I often say to grieving parents, “there are no words”. Is that ironic being that a large part of my life centers around words? It is challenging to enunciate exactly how much emotion I feel for other grieving parents. Furthermore, how I may choose to describe my emotions may not reflect their feelings at that time. Amanda’s poetry, however, seems to grasp the many varied sentiments surrounding child loss.

While we all differ in how we process our loss, there is a common thread of sadness. On the other side is the search for hope. The collection of poems in Barren Years reflect both sides of loss.

In “Stones Amid Pines” Amanda expresses how shedding tears for her children helps her to feel whole again. These words speak the same language of my heart.

A kind of stone in my own right , I sit       

at the grave of my children

and weep so thoroughly

that when I walk away

I am once again whole.

When grief is new and fresh, or when it circles back around, the need for tears to fall is innate. It feels as though the tears that wet our face prove the loss we have suffered. The loss so deep needs to be physically seen and sometimes tears are the only way that can happen. It does not logically make sense but sometimes it is necessary. The expulsion of emotion helps to temporarily purge the deep rooted sadness that has taken up a place in our hearts. It is sometimes the only thing that helps to make us feel whole again.

“Stones Amid Pines” also speaks to time and its softening nature in relation to grief. Never does it change our experiences but rather our relationship to them. Just as surrounding environments continue on, so do the living. As the poem begins she writes about her children being buried where a future church is to be erected. After seven years of time has passed she makes a deferential observation.

Time has done

her great mother-work again.

She has her own way of soothing.

I glance up at the church, birthed out of the hill itself

with castle-like glory

and filled with music,

the intersection of many lives

creating communion.

The glaring contrast of her children’s graves at the bottom of the hill, while a church has been “birthed out of the hill itself” reminds us of how life continues on even when our hearts are not able to beat properly. It is our choice whether or not we carry on, while carrying our angels with us. We have the choice to create new memories and use our own creativity to foster hope. The other choice is to dwell in the place of sadness, allowing the darkness that has seeped into our hearts to forever close our eyes, close our minds and close our future.

The poem succinctly closes by paying homage to grief, sadness and Amanda’s unborn children. She honors “letting it all go once again”. As a reader it feels as though “Stones Amid Pines” is a true reflection of her being able to process grief and realizing that she will forever carry this in her heart. In her words I recognize her understanding that time will continue to lead her back to this sorrowful state periodically.

Writing is so clearly a beautiful form of creative therapy for Amanda. In an interview on the blog, Space Between, she reveals that she utilized other forms of creativity to aid in her healing. “I realized I needed something to take care of, so my dear friend, Linda, taught me gardening. Taking care of my plants, together with writing and many long talks with some of my spiritual guides helped me through. It took me a good five years to begin feeling like myself again. ” Her hope and healing through gardening is evident in “Spinach and Broccoli”, another poem from her collection.

New sprouts emerge

with a burst of courage;

having broken through clay,

they begin reaching for the sun.

The metaphorical value of this speaks to my soul. This is how it is as a grieving mother. Hope begins with the smallest thought, the tiniest idea. It sprouts, taking much courage. The significance of the clay symbolizing a common factor I have seen in every grieving parent at the start of their grief journey. It is that belief that happiness and joy will never emerge again. The hopelessness that grieving parents experience impedes their belief that anything will ever make them smile again. Then one day the sun spreads its warmth and joy. Eventually you begin reaching for it again.

Amanda’s collection of poems are clearly very personal creations. Some would be hesitant to share the words of their bare souls. I have a deep admiration for her because she is not one of those people. Her belief is that her words will help others. Grief can be an isolating state to subsist in. Bridging to others through writing has helped Amanda and will help those who read her words. There is healing in connection. Barren Years offers a sense of connection, solidarity and hope.

BARREN YEARS is available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. You can also check out her website, or follow her on Twitter @poet_russell.