I have had high blood pressure most of my life and it has always been easy to manage with diet and natural supplements. However, since May, I have struggled, and I am now in the care of cardiologists with my weeks spent in medical offices or at home preparing for more ugly tests. 

After several exams, and the wearing of a heart monitor for a 24-hour period, the tests are inconclusive. What was found is that there is a spike in heart activity in the moments where my heart should be resting which seem abnormal. Especially around three in the morning. More tests have been scheduled.

Since 2018 I have woken early each morning around three. The time Zane was killed. Sometimes I fall back to sleep but often I lay awake. I have gotten used to this routine, never thinking how hard on my heart it might be.  It has become an odd routine from the day-time reality. I have accepted that I will wake, I will remember, I will feel a pain in my chest. So, when I do, I whisper into the night, “hello, who is here to chat with me” Someone is always there. It is my red thread to the other realm.

The red thread or red string of fate is seen as both a physical and spiritual entity, the nature of human relationships that are tangible and deeply rooted in the metaphysical. Original folklore stated the red string was about meeting the person you were to marry. Over time, it has morphed into something deeper, related to all connections of the heart. Simply, the red string ties you to those you share destiny with. It goes beyond time and space. It is meant to be a reminder to reflect on relationships with mindfulness and gratitude.

Our heart hurts when we experience grief. It is bound to shake up the electrical wiring of our being. We are told that grief brings with it complicated emotional and physical symptoms. Why then would it be so unusual for my heart to become abnormal, living with such loss.

Grief warriors are taught that pain inside the heart can be a loved one reaching out to you. A physical tug to say, “I’m still here”. I like to believe that Zane pulls on that string. Letting me know that I have not lost him. He is still with me, connected by the abstract idea that the red string cannot be broken.

As my doctors continue attempting to pinpoint a cause for my heart’s tribulations, I wonder if they could diagnose the effects of long-term grief. Of grief so heavy that the heart screams with each beat, “I miss you”. A heart that continues, although shattered by so much sadness. Maybe the question should be, how long does the heart go on before it starts to show the wear and tear of its brokenness. Apparently, for me, it is coming up seven years.