I Can Speak for Her

Sometimes we lose people unexpectedly. Everything seems fine and then, all of a sudden, without any warning at all, it’s over. There’s no letter, no clues upon reflection to tell us what exactly it was that finally broke her. Just like the tiny pappus from the dandelion’s stem, she blew away with a wind no one saw coming, and then she was gone.

It’s hard to be a girl and then a woman. It’s even harder to be a wife and a mother and a person in your own right. There’s little room for error given to a mother, to a woman for that matter. We are to be the gentle carriers of all, lovely and pure and kind, yet strong enough to bear and birth children from whom a piece of our soul never detaches.

Unlike the husbands and fathers who, by nature and design, are made to compartmentalize feelings and roles, we simply expand in heart to accommodate each task and trial of every role we fill. The feminists argued we are “just like men.” Evidence proves contrary. We are little like men if at all…

I can speak for her because I share her cares. I walk her journey. I know her path. I know the world of words and how to string them together to convey much, but words are inadequate for describing the deepest places of a woman’s heart. These hearts of ours literally beat for our children as they develop at the center of our being. Awareness of the connection and how our every move moves that tiny life inside is experience that teaches what words cannot. The consequential responsibility staggers a mother’s mind while Daddy is separate, still waiting, unknowing of what his other cannot keep from knowing…

The connection is different from the moment of conception to the end of all ends. First, the responsibility and inseparability, and then the first break; the cutting of the cord after nine months as one. Handed immediately back to Mother, she cradles her baby close and nurses the new life from her own reserves; sacrificial love overflows from body to baby, and the child grows on…

Days and nights revolve around sustaining new life; body is given for body and life for life. Each sacrifice is made with hope; never doubting the good that will grow from the continual tending.

I must go back to say why I can speak for her…The insults we bear can break us. I know…That young, 16 year-old girl with blossoming belly and breasts; awkward and blushing with shame at what couldn’t be hidden heard the jarring words from him, “I don’t find you attractive like that.” To say a piece of her died that day would not be true because death brings relief and there was none of that to be found. Oh, I’ve learned to forgive foolishness a thousand times over, but I’ve never forgotten the absurdity of love- claims when failures such as this occurs. There’s more than one way to break wedding vows. I felt the break when this wound struck my heart. I’m convinced Jesus felt it, too…

I don’t call suicide victims cowards. I do not call them selfish. I call them wounded beyond repair inside the confines of this cruel world. I believe some are just too good for this world and those who call them cowards are likely the ones who broke the dandelion’s stem and released the delicate life to the freedom of the wind…




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1 Response to I Can Speak for Her

  1. Angie Lewis says:

    Well said. I’m so sorry for how you were treated. You were never more beautiful to me than when carrying your children!

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