Half a Heart

by Karen McQuestion

When Robert and Amber had first started going out, she’d had her misgivings. “Sometimes when you think you’re falling in love with someone, you’re really falling in love with the way they make you feel,” she’d told her daughter. “If he’s not someone you’d want as a friend, he probably isn’t someone you’d want as a partner.” Amber had nodded as if agreeing, but nothing changed. Amber was good at that—agreeing to her face but disregarding her advice. That girl had a mind of her own.

Sometimes we can get so tied up in the "idea" of love that we deceive ourselves that its a doable situation that can be worked out as you go along. The better advice is seeing that person as a friend first.

A wave of emotion came over Grandma Nan. Oh, Logan, where did you go? She held the photo up and asked, “Is there any way I can get a copy of this?”

The invincible love of a grandmother can be a major stronghold.

It had started with raised angry voices and finished in a sight so devastating even thinking about it now made him want to cry. When it finally ended, his father had stood over him and said, “Not a word about this, do you understand? Not a word. Tell anyone and you’ll be sorry.” He’d never told anyone what he’d seen. There was no point in telling. It wouldn’t change things.

No wonder Logan can't talk. He's a helpless little boy without the help he needs.

“I listen, and sooner or later, I get a sign that points me in the right direction. It’s not always an actual physical sign. Sometimes it’s just a still, small voice inside of me, but every single time, I get a sign. Once it happens, the answer to my dilemma becomes very clear to me. Now I’m not saying this is the only way to go about it, but it works for me, so you might want to take a pause and listen, then see what happens.”

That "still small voice" needs to be taken seriously. Someone is giving you instructions! Listen.

It had been kind of Mrs. Park to notice and give him what he’d needed without the other kids finding out. There were so many good people in the world, but it always seemed like there were more bad people because they made more noise.

You can see the one that needs you most and do what you can or do nothing.

And then Joanne thought about how much she wanted him back. She said it out loud. “I want you back.” Hearing herself say the words made it even sadder, and she started to cry—a big, ugly gulping-for-air kind of cry. She sobbed and wailed. It was endless, and there was no one there to distract her or promise that time would heal all wounds. She wanted to feel normal again, to not be chained to this endless despair. Everyone said it would get better, but when?

She's walking through the fire of loss and crying out. And she needs to find her grandson.

Being hit with his dad’s belt was the worst physical pain he’d ever experienced, and like everything else, it seemed to be random. He never knew when an infraction might be severe enough to incite him to take off his belt and whip him across the back. One time, he was standing at the sink brushing his teeth, and his dad came tearing in, screaming about the mess he’d left in his room. The belt was already in his father’s hand, and it cut across his back with such force that it pushed him forward, making him gag on the toothbrush. The sting of the leather made him lose his breath. Inside, he screamed, but still his vocal cords were frozen, and no audible sound left his mouth.

I remember being on constant edge when my father was in the house. You never knew what would be asked of you, his moods, his rules. You had to follow them but you were often confused as to what they were.

When he considered going home, he thought about these things. The yelling, the name-calling, the hitting. Even the idea of going home filled him with an awful sense of dread. There was no way his father would be overjoyed to have him return. His temper ruled over all of them, but Logan the most.

These tensions came be re-visited throughout a lifetime.

So much to keep in your head! History and holiday traditions and anniversaries and birth dates of family members. The human brain constantly sifted through data and memories, retaining what would be useful in the future and deciding what could be discarded, and it did this day after day, year after year, for decades on end. Astounding how much stuff rattled around in a person’s noggin. No wonder some of it leaked out on occasion.

These things become a part of who we are as we move through life. The best "lifeline" I ever had was clinging to the Word of God.

she saw his back, a narrow expanse of flesh scarred with red crisscrossed ridges like he’d been whipped. His shoulder blades stuck out pitifully, like sharp-looking knobs. “I’ll just leave this here,” she said quickly, dropping the clothes on the floor. Closing the door, she added, “Bring me your wet things and I’ll hang them in the laundry room to dry.” She stood outside the door in disbelief. Could something besides abuse have made those kinds of marks? She wanted to believe that there was another explanation, but deep inside, she knew the truth. Someone had beaten the hell out of that sweet little boy. No wonder he didn’t want to go home. With her fingertips, she wiped away her tears. She didn’t want him to see her crying. Making him feel bad wasn’t going to help.

Such obvious abuse must not be "overlooked". How do children survive such things?