My Heart.

As far back as my first memory that I remember, I knew that in life I would be alone. Alone, in the sense that nobody would ever understand my heart.

My heart is pure, giving, and fragile. It takes control of my mind, and my judgement. It loves unconditionally, and hurts constantly.

My parents immigrated from Greece. My mom came at 6 months old, and grew up in Canada, but returned every year to visit family once she was a teenager. On one of those vacations, my dad met my mother while she was in Greece and they married in Canada in 1978.

As a child I don't remember much before the age of 9. I know that we struggled financially, and that my father worked 3 jobs, while my mom raised 3 daughters.

It was October 1988 when one night changed life, and made me the person I am today.

That fall evening, my parents both pulled up in the driveway together, which was very strange because it was a weeknight and dad was never home that early from work. My mom went out to the backyard and my dad came into the kitchen with swollen eyes.

My mom, at 34 years of age was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

Between 1988 and 1995 I cannot recall any memories of hardship, although those were the toughest years of my life.

Recalling only happy memories of vacations and silly family events, is probably my way of deleting the heartache of reality at that time. The reality was that my mom had 4 surgeries, 2 rounds of chemotherapy and one round of radiation in that time period.

My dad took a leap of faith and opened his own bakery in a small tourist town, worked 16 hour days, and we moved an hour away from family and friends to make a go of it.

We were a tight family.

Our home was always where friends would gather, parties would happen, and wishes and dreams seemed they could be a reality.

My heart knew the truth.

To cherish these moments, every moment, for they would be what the heart will remember. They would be the foundation of the adult woman I would become. These moments would teach me. And they did.

The pain my heart felt when my mom took that last breath is something I wish to never feel again. The scar left on my heart every time I have lost a loved one since is something I can only reverse by healing with with the loving memories.

As a Greek Orthodox, we chant "May their memory be eternal" at funerals 3 times and then what seems to be another 100 times at their 40 day memorial, 3 month memorial, and one year and every year after that. The idea as my yiayia explained it to me is that all that is left once their spirit crosses is their memory. By keeping their memory alive, we keep them alive in our hearts.

I realize many people have lost parents and at a young age but for some reason this one major part of my life, it shaped me.

It is the reason I lead with my heart. Although I guard it carefully, I still allow it to love, and hurt.

It's what makes us human. It's what holds those memories and it is what we leave behind once we are gone.

While I don’t wear it on my sleeve and I may seem aloof sometimes when first meeting me, if you show me honesty and loyalty you will have my love forever.

Cuts heal but the scar remains forever and while I do have many scars on this heart, each scar has taught me a lesson on how to avoid getting another.