I am, indeed, the coin, holding within me the intricate dance of joy and sorrow, of profound connection and devastating absence. My life has been rich with different kinds of love, each right for the season it occupied. I’ve known partnership and companionship in marriages, and I honor those experiences and the unique love they brought into my life.
In 2006, one side of my coin shimmered with an unbearable brightness: the discovery of my soulmate. This was a love so deep, so profound, it surely felt like destiny – a connection unlike any I had known. Those two years of marriage, though tragically brief, imprinted an experience of love that many only dream of. That was the blessing, the side of the coin etched with an exquisite beauty.
Then, in 2009, the coin flipped with a force that shattered my world. The other side revealed itself, stark
and brutal – the sudden, unthinkable loss that stripped away not just my husband, but a piece of my very being. That was the suffering, the profound grief that lingered long after the immediate shock faded. I bore witness to life’s capacity for both immeasurable gift and excruciating theft, all within the span of a few years.
Now, as I navigate the dating world, a cancer survivor with the ghost of a potential recurrence whispering in the background, I feel the weight of that same coin in a new, acutely personal way. I carry the memory of that extraordinary love, a testament to my capacity for deep connection. This is the enduring strength, the resilience, the understanding of what truly profound intimacy feels like.
Yet, alongside this richness, there’s the palpable fear of history repeating itself, not just for me, but for those I might allow into my heart. I’ve lived through the agony of losing the love of my life, and that pain was unbearable. The thought of inviting someone new into my world, only for them to potentially experience that same devastating loss if my cancer were to return and take me…. it’s a burden I honestly struggle with. How can I ask someone to risk that kind of heartbreak? How can I knowingly put them through the watching, the hoping, the ultimate grief, when I know precisely how soul-crushing that experience is? It’s a deeply protective instinct, this reluctance to inflict potential pain on another, especially when I’ve felt its full force myself.
And yet, despite this overwhelming concern, I still yearn for it – that profound, all-consuming love again. The blessing of experiencing it once has shown me what’s possible, what truly enriches life. This isn’t a simple “two sides” scenario; it’s a dynamic, ever-present reality. My coin spins, sometimes showing the vibrant imprint of love found, sometimes the stark emptiness of love lost, and now, the profound vulnerability of daring to love again while acknowledging life’s inherent fragility. I am holding both sides of that coin, longing for connection while grappling with the very real cost it might exact on the heart of another.
