I never truly thought heartbreak was real. I always thought it was a made up term for adolescents going though teenage angst and raging hormones.

It wasn’t until you left this world that I understood the term completely, and in all its glory.

Even now as I write this I can’t literally describe the uncontrollable ache that is in your soul when your heart breaks. Not even physically describing the act of your heart slowly tearing apart without concern or mercy gives a true representation on the frequently used term.

The world doesn’t combust, and the walls don’t cave in. Instead you feel claustrophobic in your own skin. You start to hyperventilate. You can’t move, speak or breathe. The grief is so unmanageable your body surrenders completely. You become weak. Your legs give way and you lose control. Your cry is a sound unbeknown to your ears. You and the pain coexist as one. The only connection you have with life itself is the fact that you can still feel sorrow within.

The first time I felt this inconceivable anguish I thought I was done. Surely no one could live through this? But now, as I sit here writing this, I realise I’ve felt this overwhelming agony numerous times over the past year.

When we first heard your diagnosis.
When the doctor said it was stage four.
When the chemo stopped working.
When the meds no longer offset your pain.
When you closed your eyes for the very last time.
When they wheeled you out of our house.
And when they lowered you into the ground.

But sometimes the pain doesn’t come all at once. It can come in stages, like short bursts of agony hitting you repeatedly like a full powered machine gun. And somedays those pellets only feel like rain. But when the full onslaught does come, you’re succumbed by it completely. The convulsion takes over, you are its slave and there is no remedy. You are the pain until there is nothing left. No more heart to tear. No more sound to make. No more pain to feel. You’re numb. Empty. Scratched dry.

For me heartbreak does exist. And when you really feel it – it will never go away. It will wait patiently at the surface, only rising on rare occasions and at unpredictable moments. This can be on the tram, at the coffee shop or in your dreams.

These testing moments are life’s little curve balls that you have to overcome every day. Heartbreak isn’t a term. It’s a process and this process doesn’t end. Although the body may be able to heal with time, there will always be a faint scar that might be hard to see but extremely tender to touch.