What an expression! When I’m asked what my dad died of, I often say “a broken heart.” Along with most of his generation, he went through so much: WW1, the Depression, WW2, 75% destruction of our home town through fire-storms and repeated bomb attacks, four brothers either missing-in-action or dead on the Russian front, wife and third child dead one year after the war, loss of one-eye sight and brain damage from shrapnel wound, vocation wiped out (no-one needed cavalry riding instructors), loss of … just about everything, including pride, hope, and purpose. All that without a whiff of counselling, rehabilitation, or recognition of what is now known (and treated) as survivor guilt and post-traumatic stress. After many years of being at odds with a man I barely knew–right up and past his tortured old age–my heart finally woke up with compassion for him.
I recalled all this when reading an interview with a Vancouver Children’s Hospital cardiologist*. The interviewer asked: “Do people actually die of a broken heart, both in the literal and metaphorical sense?” To which Dr. Sanatani replied,
“I’ll answer this in two ways, as two different people. First, as a long-time descendant of philosophers and daydreamers, people absolutely die of a broken heart. I mean, we see it when one spouse dies and all of a sudden the previously well [partner] is not the person they used to be, and not long after, they die.
“From the second, scientific point of view, in paediatric cardiology we see some of the most messed up hearts you can imagine. Some of the kids are born with one pumping chamber where there should be two, or one valve where there should be three. And those hearts are sometimes just not compatible with life. So you also die of a broken heart when it started out broken. We just couldn’t fix it.”
* “Gray’s anatomy lesson” in VLM magazine. Feb 2008, p.23. www.vlonline.ca. image: nikhilkumar.wordpress.com