This is a well-known poem by e.e. cummings, but it’s been rattling around in my mind since last week.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Last week, I scheduled Rowenna’s open heart surgery. Next Wednesday, a surgeon who has performed this same procedure hundreds of times will take my baby girl and patch her tiny heart. I know she needs it. I sit here and watch her breathe heavily and sweat from the effort. I just dread that day when I have to really let go and let someone else fix her.
This poem runs through my mind because it so beautifully articulates how I feel about my daughter. When my daughter’s heart is worked on next week, I feel like my heart will be there, too. In these short 16 weeks she has become an inextricable part of me.
I carry her heart in my heart. I only wish I could protect her from the scariness of surgery and the pain of recovery.