My Chosen Superpower
If you could have one superpower, what would it be?
I would want the power to heal….a healing touch.
But not to heal the physical wounds like broken bones, or illness such as colds and flu.
I have often wished I had to power to heal broken hearts…
Our hearts…not the ones pumping blood through our bodies, but the ones that feel emotions. We cannot find them when we open up the physical body, they are not something that can be held in the hand and examined. They have no substance that can be viewed, and yet they are very real and can hurt more, and deeper, and take longer to heal than any part of our physical bodies.
Loss of someone or something that is dear to us causes our hearts to hurt. We’ve all experienced this pain, wounds to a part of us that cannot be found, cannot be bandaged. Harsh and mean words or actions bruise that deep place within us. When death takes someone from our lives, it causes a tear in the tender flesh of our most fragile part. When someone we love walks out of our lives, they tear a piece of the fabric of that heart, sometimes ripping it apart completely. At times the loss is so intense our hearts are completely shattered.
There is no way to fix this delicate piece of us…no stitches can close the wounds, no glue can put the pieces back together, no medication can be applied to lessen the severity of the scars the injuries will leave behind. No antibiotic to keep out the infection of bitterness that can seep in making the wounds fester and ooze unattractiveness that others see. At least nothing medical science can supply will heal a broken heart.
So many times I’ve watched tears flow from the eyes and down the cheeks of a soul in agony and could only hold them while they suffered. I’ve listened to a friend talking of a loss, hearing the pain and confusion in their voice. And I felt so powerless, so incredibly helpless to ease that torment.
I’ve also been the one with the tears, pain and confusion, my heart destroyed and experiencing more hurt than I ever imagined possible. Pain so deep it hurt to breathe, to think, to even exist. And beyond the point of being able to receive comfort, so deep nothing could penetrate the pain to sooth the wounds. My heart laying in ICU on life support, deep in a coma of suffering with no ability to surface. I could hear those around me, what they said, in an effort to hold me here, keep me from slipping further into the darkness where I could remain numb and lifeless emotionally. No visitors permitted, and no way to know if or when recovery would begin, or how long it would take. When it was finally released, the scars had not even begun to heal, some wounds were still very raw, others open and only beginning to close. To say I was fragile would be greatly understating the reality.
So many times I have wished I possessed the power to sooth those that are so deep in their misery. That when touching those cheeks and drying the tears, I could pull the pain through my finger tips and replace it with peace and comfort. That when I hugged them close, the wounds would begin to close, the burning subside. That every touch…holding their hand, kissing their face, holding them in my arms, would be a soothing, healing balm to their hearts, extracting the torment, injecting warmth, cauterizing the emotional bleeding and pouring life and love back in to resuscitate their hearts.
But, would it be a good thing?
Throughout the transition from crushed to recuperated, we learn and grow. I’ve learned some hard lessons through the past 17 months. Somethings about myself weren’t pretty, in fact rather ugly. Those were pieces of my personality that were rotting flesh that had to be cut away, and grafts of change put in place to grow and heal with the other wounds.
I am not the woman that I was in January 2010 when my life and dreams imploded into a burning pile of debris around me. My heart is not the same as it was when it’s lifeless remains were on life support in the ICU unit struggling to continue beating. There were days I felt myself slipping further into that comatose state of pain and depression, and it took all I had to cling to the side of my sanity and not let go when the cold darkness beckoned so invitingly. I am not the person that sifted through the rubble of my life, salvaging what I could, discarding what could not be fixed, and reevaluating who I was, where I wanted to go, and plotting a new course in life.
The person that has emerged is more like the me I was before I fell in love and married even the first time. While there are deep and painful scars, and some are still tender and not all that attractive, I’m stronger in so many ways, and softer in others. I’m still learning to fly again, making short, sometimes less than graceful journeys to explore love again. I know that I want to love again, that intense, deep, life changing, fully and completely devoted kind of love. Trusting will come slowly, not only of allowing someone to hold my heart, but allowing myself to hold theirs. I don’t want mine broken again, and I do not wish to inflict damage on anyone else’s.
But could any of this come about without that long and difficult process of healing?
Perhaps we all potentially have that superpower already, when we reach out and touch someone in pain, the results are just not as immediate as we’d like…