A heart can be broken, but it will keep beating just the same.

A few days ago I watched Fried Green Tomatoes. I haven’t watched since my mom died. But I’m stuck and home and doing a deep dives in streaming service movie catalogs. Fried Green Tomatoes popped up. My cursor briefly hovered over it before I scrolled past. Nothing, though, struck my fancy and soon I found myself scrolling back up to Fried Green Tomatoes. I think I was five the first time I saw this movie. My mom rented it and we watched one Saturday night. I know what you’re thinking. It’s a PG-13 drama. What five year old is gonna sit still for that? I don’t know why I sat with her engrossed in the movie. Maybe it was her excitement. All I remember is sitting curled into my moms side and Fried Green Tomatoes burrowing into my soul. Lines from the movie became inside jokes in our lives. As mom taught me to cook she say in the say sing-song way as Sipsey, “secrets in the sauce.” She reminded me on more then one occasion to never let anyone tell me never. And whenever the moment suited her she’d yell out Towanda, it was usually during triumph or road rage. The movie was a part of our shared identity. Perhaps that’s why I’ve steered clear of it for so long.

While it this time a line struck me that I’d never taken much notice of before. “A heart can be broken, but it will keep beating just the same.” Once again this movie is giving me comfort I have been searching for. See I’ve been trying to find a way to explain my grief, how I can smile and laugh while there is a wound the size of the gulf in my chest. It’s more then that though. For a year and a half I have sat in my grief, terrified to deal with it, because my grief comes with guilt. Guilt that I could save my father. Guilt for how I treated him and if that lead to his suicide. Guilt that I could not make my mother better. Guilt for the month leading into her death and that I could not give her the peace of dying at home. I have a crushing guilt that I could do more for them. That’s the core of my grief. If I work through it am I forgiving myself for that guilt. Hearing that line in a movie my mother loved so dearly, a movie I have avoided, forced me to confront my grief.

I’ve lived under this impression that I had to let go of my guilt to work through my grief. Knowing that I could never do that I avoided everything that reminded me of my parents. I stopped cooking. I stopped taking pictures. I avoided movies we loved and didn’t finish tv shows. What’s the point of watching Supernatural if I can’t make jokes about it with my mom.

I closed off half of myself so I wouldn’t have to work through the pain of my guilt. In doing so losing aspects of myself that were so deeply rooted into my soul. Did that make me happy? No. Because at the end of the day my heart is still broken but still beating.

I’ve realized I have to get through my guilt to find my way back to myself. I have to stop avoiding the things that I love.

Last week I made Jambayla for the first time in two and a half years. Before my mom died I could make this in my sleep. It’s the thing I make best. This time it was mediocre at best. I forgot ingredients and spices. They heat wasn’t as strong as usual. Somehow it tasted differently. It all felt like the first time I tried to cook. A valiant effort but doesn’t exceed expectations. I’ve realized I have to relearn how to cook. I have watch the movies and TV shows that my parents and I loved. I have to start talking pictures again.

I don’t know if my heart with ever mend. I don’t know if i can forgive myself. But I know moving forward I have to work through it. There’s no letting go or moving on. There’s just through.