Broken

I have a friend who's an alcoholic. Charming, intelligent and strong, she wears this foible on the outside for all to see. It's taken me years to understand that there isn't much a of a choice for people like her without phenomenal treatment, support and reserve. That this is a disease. It appears there are others in her life who openly view it as a character flaw, and this isn't helping her. I'm helpless at the turmoil over this and it hurts. Yesterday, though, I learned something. I stood waiting for the southbound train, heedless of the ramped up security in the wake of the London bombings. I stood selfish in my own personal raincloud feeling as though my heart were breaking, and I started thinking about the whole "heart break" thing. It's a metaphor but also a reality, like an energy centre in your chest cracking wide. It breaks from time to time in our lives, then mends and like a broken bone it can either be stronger or ache in rough weather as we move on. But sometime things need to break down before anything new can come, and this is what I decided: never was an oak tree that left behind a healthy acorn; the seed needs to break and die so the tree can come. Maybe something really great and powerful can come of this.