I sift through my e-mail. I spot one from my friend “Kiki.”

I open it. It reads:

“I hope this finds you well, I have been in bed for days…..time
to get up….because I can…I am not handicapped, or sick with illness….my heart is broken but everything else works, thank God.”

I am the writer, yet “Kiki’s” words strike such an emotional chord with me. I have been where she is. I sift back through her words which almost seem like an apology…to me…to the world…for indulging her loss.

I know this loss.
I know this pain.
I know this heartache.
I know this illness.

There are days with ordinary physical sickness, such as a cold or flu, that I could operate more effectively than I can through the pain of this emotional distress. In physical pain we can identify the part of us that hurts. In emotional pain it is an elusive.

Heartache IS an illness.

It is an illness cured only with time.

Loss produces incredible suffering whether it be death or divorce. In divorce the person actually chooses to leave you. To let you know that you have no value to them any longer.

Only the heart fights this.
It refuses to believe it to be true.
It suffers and stifles until the only choice left is survival.

The heart speaks a language all it’s own. We are only its interpreter. We can fight it all we want. Only it lets us know when it has finally healed.

Only then do we pick ourselves up and cure the illness of heartache.

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