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Heart Like a Sieve

This week our music therapist said something about OB that shifted the foundations of our world:

"He can't show love because he can't feel love in his heart."



It's hyperbole of course. He can show love. He shows it with his sister, his grandparents, his friends. Sometimes even with me. There are cuddles and smiles and, on a good day, even an "I love you Mum."

Yet there's other stuff too. Words and actions designed to show the opposite of love. Constant efforts to rebuff my love, to provoke my ire, to re-create the shouting and chaos his infant brain developed in alignment with.

Instead of a heart that fills with the love he is offered and pours it back out to others, OB has a heart like a sieve. I pour in the love; it drains out nearly as fast. So I keep pouring and pouring because I sense he needs to feel the warmth of constant, unfailing, unconditional love, and all the time he pushes back because his heart doesn't know what to do with it all.

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