Broken Hearts, Bagpipes, and Photographs
Posted: Monday, June 21, 2010
by Randy Vaughan
Contrary to popular notion, men's hearts break for reasons other than being dumped by the true loves in their lives. That's what I'll call breakage for all the wrong reasons although as is usually the case with the benefit of hindsight, even the most shattered of hearts mend eventually. Loves that are lost become the path to new love, lost careers become new opportunities. Hell, we even break our own hearts from time to time by not showing those we care about the love we have for them, for unleashing undeserved anger their way, and so forth. Yes, all these things and many more can feel like the end of the world, but rarely does that become the reality.
And if a heart can be broken for the wrong reasons and melts for the right reasons, it can also break for the right reasons.
Right out of the gate I can think of nothing else that will break a man's heart quicker than walking a daughter down the aisle. Oh, that hurts so much.
Now, April 26 was Lisa's birthday and to celebrate, we took our three daughters to a Celtic festival, oh, about an hour from our house. Daughter number three, if it matters, is our older daughter's best friend since they were about four years old and each are now in their twenties.
She "adopted" us way back then and has always called us "mom" and "dad" and she is, at least as far as we're concerned, our daughter every bit as much as the other two who are indeed biological daughters. She moved away a decade or so ago and only recently returned to this area. And in my world, "family" need not be limited to actual biological relationships and it's this conviction that finds me telling people I have no "friends" in life (other than my wife), only people I consider "family". Those who share these sentiments understand this and for those who don't, well, I'm realizing that there are some things in life you can never fully and satisfactorily explain. Some will come to understand and some won't. That's all I know.
So on to the broken hearts.
I'm not one given to much concern about heritage and ancestry and the such. Whether the geographical place of our births-and even who are our parents-is the stuff of randomness or Divine decree or our own choices on the other side of spiritual veil before we enter this worldwell, these things remain a mystery to me and I'm fine with that. So all I know about my past is that my family name is Welsh in origin. That's it and "big deal" as far as I'm concerned.
But I can't move beyond the acceptance and admission that I remember no time in my life when all things Celtic did not appeal to me, touched me in the most profound of ways and feelings and intuitions. The music, the myths, the legends, the accentseverything connected with Celtic tradition has always been a Siren's song to me, a "calling" that constantly reaffirms the sense I don't belong "here," wherever that "here" might be, simply because I'm "supposed" to be "there" where it all began and maybe still is. But this feeling of being lost, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, transcends not only geography but time, as well. It's as if I don't belong "here" in the "now" but rather "there" in times long past. There's a wonderful poem titled "Miniver Cheevy" by Edwin Arlington Robinson that says it perfectly.
So I knew going to this festival was going to be a delightful day for me, but I also knew I was in for a rough time of it. Real men, they say, don't cry. Well, all it took to get the tears building up was to stand there as the bagpipes played "Scotland the Brave". And by the time they were wrapping things up with "Amazing Grace"? Well, had I been in my house I'd have allowed myself a good old-fashioned crying session, the kind where one eye weeps tears of sadness and the other tears of joy. It's the cleansing kind of crying without which I'd be either a raging alcoholic, mass murderer, living in Tibet, or nothing but memories.
And the whole time there we all were busy taking pictures, not only of the various events and activities but each other as well. Okay, that previous statement isn't quite accurate. You see, other than it being Lisa's birthday, the thing I was looking most forward to was having all of "my girls" together for the first time, as I've said, in ten or so years, and I'd already said that once we were there, one of the first things I was going to do was ask someone to take a picture of all of us.
So the day progressed and three cameras and a camcorder stayed busy as hell and I have pictures of every mathematical combination of wife, mom, and three daughters. But you know what? There's not a one with me in the picture.
And that breaks my heart. But when all is said and done, this is to be filed under a "good" broken heart simply because they were all so busy having fun, enjoying each other's company, looking at the jewelry and, yes, buying the jewelry, that I just couldn't see myself interrupting for that one picture I wanted. So if I could show you all those pictures, I'm still there, of course, visible only by my absence and suffering a very happily broken heart with each picture taken.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Randy, welcome to Searchwarp. Thanks for sharing this.
All the best,
NenitaHi, Nenita, and you're most welcome. And yes, I think I've found a new home. So many good people, most all of whom seem to be writing for the most noble reason of all: Passion.
Well, it's broken my heart a bit, too, and your entire article melted my heart!Oh, I'm sorry (in that "good" way, right?). Thank you.
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