I shattered my iPhone on Saturday night. After a long and stressful day, I left the house for what was supposed to be a relaxing walk. Instead, Margot jerked my hand and my phone flew, making quick contact with the concrete. I know I’m not the only one who has anxiously reached down to pick up a dropped phone, praying that somehow it survived a hard blow. I turned it over and my stomach dropped. Shattered glass is breathtaking in its beauty and its destruction.
I stormed inside the house, tears filling my eyes. I even flung Margot’s leash across the front foyer. My behavior was childish…it’s a phone after all…but I felt such a strong rush of emotions that I could barely contain my anger.
As often happens with Ryan and me, it took a few hours for the dust to settle before we were able to analyze behavior. By that point, I had called T-mobile and ordered a replacement. We live in a world where broken phones are almost as catastrophic as a failing pace-maker and my new iPhone 5 was already on its way to Colorado Springs by the time we went to bed last night. But even though the problem was fixed (for a relatively nominal fee), I couldn’t shake the uneasiness of the evening. A long walk with Ryan was what I needed, and as we paced our dark neighborhood I discovered what was at the root of my emotions that night.
Many of you know that Ryan and I recently walked down a very dark road. We lost his father to suicide in January 2009 and then my 2-year-old nephew drowned in October of that same year. In the Spring of 2010, my oldest sister and her family were in a catastrophic and fatal car accident. We lost three family members from that collision, my sister included. To say that Ryan and I learned about the uncertainty of life is an understatement. We were ripped away from any illusion of safety, and it’s taken years for us to feel somewhat secure again.
When my iPhone flew out of my hands and shattered on the concrete on Saturday night, I went back to a place of no control. I was reminded how quickly everything can change and how devastating one small action can be. Yes, it was just an iPhone (and thank God for that!) but it evoked the same feelings that I contended with again and again during our season of tragic loss.
And with the addition of Lucille to our family, I think I’ve grown to feel even more vulnerable. Because beneath a rather cheery surface, those fears of loss and tragedy still run strong inside of me. They came out last night as I stormed through our house.
As Ryan and I walked around our neighborhood last night, my reaction began to make sense. I cried when I thought about how much I love Lucy and I confessed that I’m scared, no petrified, that something terrible might happen again. The tears I shed with Ryan were needed tears. Tears that I had tried to swallow up with activities and planning and baking and parties. Sometimes we need these moments of emotional rawness to get at the core of whats making us less-than-human. I know I did. Because by trying to cover up my pain and fear, I was hiding a big part of me (a beautiful and broken part of me).
I can’t tell you that I now know how to grapple with the lingering pain of loss. I can’t tell you that my breakthrough last night alleviated any of those fears. But I can tell you that the only way wounds can heal is if they’re exposed to fresh air. And I’ve decided it’s time to let them breathe again.
These chocolate chip cookies are a classic around my house. I’m sharing them today because I know that I, at least, need a little bit of comfort.
Classic Chocolate Chip Cookies
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 TBSP butter, melted and cooled
1 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg + 1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
In a small bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside. In a large bowl, cream together melted butter and sugars. Stir in egg and egg yolk. Stir in vanilla extract. Fold dry ingredients into wet ingredients until dough begins to form. Stir in chocolate chips. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and allow to chill for at least 30 minutes up to 24 hours.
When ready to bake, preheat oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Allow dough to sit out for 15 minutes at room temperature before attempting to scoop. Scoop dough out in 1/4 cup increments, spacing cookies at least 3 inches apart. Bake for 10-13 minutes. Cookies will look slightly undercooked. Remove from oven and allow to cool on cookie sheet for ten minutes before removing to a wire rack to finish cooling. Best enjoyed immediately with a tall glass of milk.
