With a Heavy Heart

My heart weighs a million pounds. Is that what a heavy heart means? 

Or does it mean my chest hurts like it was in a one way punching battle with a boxing glove on an angry kangaroo? 

Because it does. The ache in my chest is relentless. It hurts even in the still of the night. It hurts when I cry, it hurts when I laugh. It hurts when you may think I've temporarily forgotten. 

My heart is so very heavy. Oddly I have no idea what that means while simultaneously using that title perfectly. 

This heavy heart has seen seventy days since it lost my Mom. Seventy days since I left without telling her how much I love her and that I wasn't ready for her to go yet. 

With a heavy heart I miss our quick texts of the last few months. How just getting a heart or a red headed emoji meant she was ok. Not great, but ok. It was enough to make me smile and be grateful she could still fight. 

A heavy heart is so lonely. From one missing person in my world, I'm lonely. Whether in a room full of family or alone in the car, the loneliness is deafening. But yet, the silence is what I can handle. 

My heavy heart can't catch its breath sometimes. When something comes along to remind me that she isn't here anymore. That certain something that stops me in my tracks. 

Heavy hearts have a hard time healing. I'm thinking they never do.