It felt like the little years would last forever. He would always need me for something, no matter the time or inconvenience. He would always want to be near me, no matter what trivial task I was completing. He would always seek my advice, input, or knowledge on whatever he was learning about.
But all of a sudden, my son is almost as big as I am. What happened to my little boy who was obsessed with the garbage truck and Thomas the Train?
What happened to my little boy who wanted to hang out with me, whether to watch his shows, play “dig for buggies” until he found each one a thousand times, or help me push the shopping cart through the aisles?
What happened to my little boy who would hang on every word I said as I told him a bedtime story, never wanting me to leave his room?
What happened to my little boy who always left the house in a makeshift costume he created from pieces of 15 store-bought ones?
What happened to my little boy who would run so fast and squeeze me so hard when hugging me, it would knock me over and look more like a tackle than a gentle embrace?
I have noticed these things slowly slipping away over the years. Sometimes, they would only be gone for hours, sometimes days. But my little boy was always around more than he wasn’t.
Before I knew it, I was sitting in my car crying because I could relate to Taylor Swift’s heart-wrenching song “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” about a breakup that almost destroyed her. But instead of it being a romantic relationship for me, I can relate because it’s what it feels like to lose my little boy.
He said he’d love me all his life
But that life was too short
Breaking down, I hit the floor
All the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting, “More”
I was grinning like I’m winning. I was hitting my marks
‘Cause I can do it with a broken heart
Wasn’t it just yesterday he was making me heart-shaped handprints for any and every occasion? Wasn’t it just yesterday he asked to dance with me in the kitchen when our most recent favorite song started to play? Wasn’t it just yesterday when he swore he would never leave me, no matter how old he got or when he got married?
What used to feel like it would last forever was incredibly too short. I wasn’t ready for it. But I have other children and responsibilities too—they don’t care how broken this reality leaves me. I still have to go about my day. I still have to keep “hitting my marks.”
I can hold my breath.
I’ve been doing it since he left.
I keep finding his things in drawers
Crucial evidence, I didn’t imagine the whole thing
He’s not in there anymore. But I keep finding things that prove he used to be: a random LEGO man in between the couch cushions, that magician’s hat he used to pull Monopoly money out of after swirling his wand around and saying the magic words, the little stuffed monkey he used never to be able to sleep without. As I hold my breath, I also cling to this evidence, wishing I could see him again, just for a moment.
I’m so obsessed with him, but he avoids me like the plague
I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it’s an art
You know you’re good when you can even do it
With a broken heart
The definition of “obsessed” Taylor uses doesn’t fit. But another version, “having extreme or relentless concern,” sure does. And he definitely acts like I have a contagious, life-threatening disease and should be avoided at all costs.
Don’t get me wrong. I am very grateful I get to do it, even with a broken heart, because I know too many people who didn’t get to or can’t even though they wanted to so badly.
So, I continue to move forward, artfully and productively, going about my day. But now, I guess part of my day will involve sitting in my car and crying to a Taylor Swift song.
And I am so proud of the man he’s becoming. But just know, it’s at the expense of my little boy. So please be kind to everyone you meet. You never know who is “doing it with a broken heart.”
by Mikala Albertson 
by Amy Martin 
by Jenny Rapson 
