A Teenager's First Heartbreak

I’m sure nearly all of us can relate to the pain of a first heartbreak.

Mine happened when I was 17 and the heartbreak lasted into me turning 18.

He was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first… he called me when I was sad and smiled any time he saw me. He was the first to tell me he loved me. I never believed him, and yet this boy still broke my heart.

As much as my mom didn’t like or approve of him, when I came and sat on the couch across from where she was reading her book, she cried with me. We didn’t talk about this boy who had somehow stolen my well-guarded heart, we talked about her and her ex-husband—my sisters' father. We talked until 4 AM, we laughed over some memories, and we cried over others. We had a couple of nights like this throughout my relationship and heart wrecks where we’d sit and read out loud to each other. When I would sit on the couch and a few tears would roll down my face, my mom would go to the kitchen and make us either mocktails or tea, depending on how upset she could tell I was. I have a vivid memory of her looking at me from the kitchen, “Well, are you going to start reading to me? We don’t even know who the killer is yet!” I just remember how endearing it was to me; she didn’t acknowledge that I was upset or crying, she didn’t ask what was wrong or if I was okay, she knew the answers, and she also knew how to help. If someone’s struggling to breathe, you don’t start by applying a bandaid.

Some nights were better than others, some nights were more laughter than tears, and other nights were strictly tears. Regardless, my mother met me every night on the couch with a cup on each coaster and a book in hand.

Those nights are what kept me sane through the rollercoaster of new emotions. What amazed me about my mother is that I often would cry randomly while we read out loud together, but somehow she always knew when she was supposed to keep reading and when she was supposed to stop, when she was supposed to top off my drink, and when she was supposed to bring out the heartbreak cookies. (In case you’re wondering, they’re these giant oatmeal date cookies from Walmart… I could not tell you why, but those are the best when you're sad, dipping them into black tea and taking small bite after another.)

Even though this boy can creep into the back of my mind still—years later, he still walks into my mind without consent—all I have to do is call my mom with a book in my hand.