In the last six weeks, I have begun to learn what it means to be heartsick.
When my day ends, I shut down my computer and pack it into a roller bag. A roller bag is easier for the walk home than the shoulder bag that pulls my back down
with my spirit.
It’s unseasonably cold out. Why am I wearing a winter coat and mittens in April? At least it keeps everyone inside, say the silver lining people.
I have a slight headache. Why are Zoom meetings so tiring?
A noise in the corridor startles me.
Am I safe in this corridor at night?
Why is this hall so dark?
How did this passage ever seem friendly?
I look down corridors so dark that they are like tunnels.
Do you hear these questions?
One at a time, they pound at my heart.
My phone rrriinnggs.
A text pings.
A swooossh from my computer heralds another message.
Without the light from the sky outside my window, I am disoriented.
The diplomas on my wall, the certificates…even the pictures of my children are distorted.
Each of these small disturbances collects in my brain.
I push them away,
Without realizing that I am only pushing them toward my heart.
That’s when I realize:
What the brain can’t sort, the heart keeps.
What the heart keeps makes it heavy and sick.
I walk home with a heavy heart, heartsick.