That morning, her heart got broken. Of course, she didn’t say anything. Not about herself anyway. She didn’t say anything to her friends. She didn’t tell her family. She shared a simple post on social media, almost as if it were just another day. Her family… They were stressing out over everything else. They were stressing out about their lives and these small, trivial things that went on in their lives. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t tell them that they needed to stop and cherish those small little moments. That it wasn’t the end of the world. She didn’t yell back when her daughter was snapping at her in the car. She didn’t snap back when her son was being rude over the phone. She didn’t get irritated when her friends called to talk about everything else. She’s never been that way. She’s never been the type of person to talk about her issues. She’s never been the type of person to share when something’s hurting her. She’s always been the rock.
She’s always been the rock, even when she felt like the world was crashing in around her. When she was suffering and wounded and needed a hand up, instead of reaching out to others, she became the rock for them. She helped them get through their issues. She helped them get through their suffering, or what they thought was suffering. She helped them get through everything. She helped everyone around her all the time. She didn’t tell anyone. She didn’t say anything when the world so unfairly made her friend suffer. She didn’t say anything when she had to watch him fight, and fight until his dying breath. She didn’t say anything when his life came to an end, unless it was to comfort someone else. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. Because she was the rock. The rock can’t say anything, the rock has to be the one that doesn’t crack. She couldn’t allow it to make her crack. She couldn’t allow people to see the pain behind her eyes, she couldn’t allow people to hear the cracking in her voice. She couldn’t explain anything more to people. She couldn’t explain that her first love had just lost his life. She couldn’t tell that to anyone.
It wasn’t fair! It isn’t fair! Why was he the one to suffer?! Why was he the one that had to go through this? He was a good person. He was brilliant, funny, caring, and when he loved, he loved with his entire heart. Why did this have to be him? Why couldn’t this have happened to a lesser person, an evil person? Why did he have to be the one to suffer until his last days? And why didn’t she say anything? Why did she have to be the rock?
She had to be there for his sister. For his friends. For his family. For her own family. They were at the age now, but 58 was too young. 58 is too young. It isn’t fair. He was a good man, warm heart, had friends everywhere he went, the type of person that you just couldn’t help but care about, and you knew it was reciprocated.
It wasn’t fair to lose another good heart. It isn’t fair that that good heart has ceased to beat. It isn’t fair that her heart shattered when seeing the news, when hearing the news. It isn’t fair at all. But she had to put on the face. The same face that she wore every day, every night, and protect everyone else in her life. She’s the protector of her friends, her children, her husband, everyone in her life. She didn’t say anything.
Remember. Remember. REMEMBER. Life isn’t a guarantee. Tomorrow isn’t a guarantee. This next moment isn’t a guarantee. Look at where you are right now, and decide, is this where I want to be? Is this what I want people to remember me for? If I were to be gone within the next second would my family be proud? Would anyone be proud? Would I be remembered? Life isn’t guaranteed. Be where you’re the happiest. Go where you feel the most loved. Be with the people that make you feel safe and loved, and don’t for one fucking moment ever make them question whether or not they’re loved. You never know when their last one will be.
She discovered his last moments were gone now… She didn’t say anything.