How Do You Mend A Broken Heart and Live

There are a couple of songs that used to unravel me.

Not just stir emotion — but undo me. 
Each note a thread tugging at the wound where something had torn open. 
Where he once lived in me. 
Where grief took up residence.

This morning, I went walking. 
Not searching, not bracing, just walking — like someone who trusts the ground again. 
And without warning, the songs came on.

The same ones. 
The sorrowful ones. 
The ones that once hollowed out my chest with memories of him. 
The songs that usually brought on the tears of longing
Of goodbye.

But something was different.

I listened, and I didn’t fall apart. 
The wound didn’t flare. 
The ache didn’t rise to drown me.

Instead, there was space. 
Space to remember without collapsing. 
Space to honor without hurting. 
Space to feel without breaking.

And it hit me, somewhere along the way, I had mended. 
Not perfectly. Not all at once, but piece by piece, 
I had sewn myself back together.

There’s still tenderness there — of course there is. 
But it’s not a gaping wound anymore. 
It’s a place I lived through. 
A place that helped to shape me.

I think this is what healing sometimes looks like: 
Not fireworks. 
Not some grand announcement. 
Just a random walk on a Saturday morning, and the realization that the music doesn’t own your pain anymore.

I loved him. 
I lost him. 
I learned.

And somehow, I lived.

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If your heart is still mending… 
Be patient. Let the sorrow rise and fall like waves. 
Let the music break you open if it must. 
But trust that one day — quietly, unexpectedly — you will hear the same song 
and feel your own strength more than your ache. 
This is not forgetting. 
This is what it means to live on.

You are not alone in your healing. 
And you are not broken forever. 
You are becoming.

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