I bought an amaryllis bulb last week from our postmistress, to support Huntington's Disease.
It was going to be beautiful, much like my daughter. And I thought it would be neat for the children to watch it grow.
We took the bulb out of the package and as I was reading the instructions I dropped it on the floor. The living part of the bulb broke. The boys tried to fix it by sticking it in the dirt. I explained to them that it was broken and I couldn't fix it. It was broken like Eva's heart, and mommy couldn't fix it.
I got so sad when I broke that bulb. There was no reason for my grief. It's just a bulb, really. Just the potential of a flower. But that potential broke on my kitchen floor and I got really, really sad.
Unlike Eva's heart, I could probably buy another one. But somehow that feels wrong. I want another one. Would like to see the flower bloom in the middle of winter with the children watching. But going out and buying another one feels like betraying the bulb I broke. And this is just a flower...why am I feeling this way?
And maybe there is a correlation here. Letting little J into my heart feels like a betrayal to the girl whose heart broke.
Maybe I needed this bulb to break to see what is in my heart.