it had just begun. a month before she told me she thought she was sick i wrote the words:
i finally feel like i have my sister.
and then it was the beginning of the end. and i realize in this moment, when i have just completely fallen apart in the chair i’m sitting in, watching greys’ anatomy, how often i hold back from fully letting in love for fear that when i do it will be taken away. you know, because the cruelty of life. and sometimes it happens that way.
maggie had just taken the tumor out of the tiny baby chest, everyone watching with baited breath – will maggie fold under the pressure? after-all, her mother just died, how strong can maggie really be? will she end up killing the little life she holds in her hands due to her grief?
and the little baby’s heart is failing and everyone is freaking out, telling her to “make a plan! DO something!”, on the verge of taking over the job that it seems maggie is too grief stricken to handle – and she stops everyone and says:
“i hear you.
my plan is to give her a minute.
she just lost something huge, something that has been with her since day one. her heart just needs to learn how to beat without that extra load… she just needs a little time to adjust.”
and i’m wailing, truly horrible sounds escaping my broken heart, with grey’s continuing to play in the background. some tv show writer, somewhere, has experienced loss so profound that they understand that your heart almost stops under the weight of some losses. and you just need a minute.
i need a minute for my heart to learn to beat without her. i might fold under the pressure, but then again i might not. we’ll just have to give it a minute and see.
to all the people in my life that love me, thank you for giving me that minute.