Girl Talk
Heartbreak can allow our hearts to grow
Clare Marie Celano

There's a great dialogue exchange between John Cusack and Diane Lane in the movie "Must Love Dogs."

Cusack, newly divorced, is on an Internet date with Lane, also divorced. Instead of small talk on this first date, Cusack opts to spill his guts telling Lane that the woman he deeply loved broke his heart. Then he comes up with a statement that is as profound as it corny.

He says he thinks we go through all our BS (stuff) and then the universe allows our hearts to grow bigger, allowing us to love more.

I like to think he's right. And who among us does not remember the pain of heartbreak?

It comes in waves really - ask anyone who's ever felt it - the emptiness, the physical pain, the fleeting moments of panic, the nausea, the fuzzy head.

Anyone who has experienced this phenomenon will immediately recognize it in another, because that's just the way it is.

Most of us know that when the heart hurts from loss or rejection, we are not going to die or wither and fall apart, but it does, to some extent, feel that way - even if only momentarily. Like I said, it comes in waves.

You can be in a supermarket waiting to check out your low-fat yogurt, and it can hit you. Do you weep all over the register and the check-out kid, or do you defer your need for the yogurt - which may be all you'll ever be able to stomach tonight - and head for the nearest door?

It's a crap shoot, most of the time.

I know the waterworks will faithfully turn on when I hear certain memorable songs.

"Turn it off!" one side of me screams, while the other side of me quietly whispers, "No, remember the good stuff. It's OK."

Where I am and who I am with determines which side of myself I listen to, and which direction my tears will take.

And the truth of the matter is, although the pain of heartbreak feels as though you have been hit by a Mack truck - twice - when you think of the alternative...

I have friends who say, "Never again will I allow myself to be in a position to hurt like this."

I truly understand that feeling. And although right now I do feel like a total mess some days, I've got to tell you, there is no way I would trade even one of the moments I've shared that have led me up to this point.

In fact, if I had the opportunity to give back every memory and every moment I had shared with another to win myself a "Get Out of Pain Free" card, I'd turn the offer down - in a heartbeat.

Maybe it's because of my age or maybe it's in spite of it. All I know is that the pain of losing what you had will not remotely resemble the pain of thinking you'll never find it again. That's the stuff that does you in. The idea that love is finite and that if this is gone, there will never be another opportunity to love is the stuff nervous breakdowns are made of.

When you examine that statement you realize how silly that is, for that would mean there would never be more than one relationship in anyone's life. You had your chance, you blew it, so get yourself some crochet needles and a rocking chair? I don't think so.

I don't wear sadness well; therefore, I try to wear it only when I am home alone. Sometimes I make it home before the storm hits, sometimes I don't. You do what you can do the only way you know how to do it.

But with each passing day, I remember some wonderful moment with a smile instead of with a burst of tears. This is real growth in my book.

For to remember is to relive, and I'm one of the lucky ones. There is no bitterness, no bad blood, no harshness, just a gentle realization that what once was is no longer, for a lot of reasons I have no control over.

Letting go is the hardest part. It takes time - it takes work, it takes patience, and it takes accessing strength we don't realize we have underneath all that hurt. It takes spiritual moxie and guts to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and start all over again. And if we are resigned to curling up on the couch, this can't happen.

My girlfriend has a theory on letting go of the pain of heartbreak. "It's like giving birth - you really have no choice," she says.

And you don't. Not if you ever want to see new life or what lies on the other side of that pain.

Some days are fine. I can actually see the other side of pain and it's warm and inviting. Other days, I breathe, I work, I eat, I sleep, I function on low level just to stay steady.

Life is about balance, and love in all its infinite guises comes around to fill in the blanks and connect the scattered dots of two hearts, bringing them into sync with one another - sometimes forever, sometimes for just a little while.

The trick is to recognize its face when it stands before you and be grateful for all it has brought. And being truly grateful, even surprised by the joy that love delivered to my door, eases some of the loss.

Because after the tears, after the confusion and the zillion questions that will probably never be answered, in this lifetime anyway, one must really stop asking why love left and instead, focus on being grateful that it ever managed to find our address in the first place.

For to love after all is an act of will, a decision we make to say yes or to say no.

And if it leaves, we have one of two options as I see it. We can either allow love to break us and make us hardened and bitter, thereby blocking our light from ever being seen again, or we can do as Cusack suggests: allow love to expand our hearts, soften us and make us more whole, so that the next time it comes knocking at our door, as it inevitably will, rather than slamming the door in its face, we will welcome its presence, invite it in and opt for yet another ride on the merry-go-round. I choose the latter.

Clare Marie Celano is a staff writer for Greater Media Newspapers. She can be reached at ccelano@gmnews.com.