I remember the morning my world s h a t t e r e d.
It came, bursting and bright, barreling through our bedroom window like a meteor. I didn’t stir.
After the explosion you slipped from the safety of our bed, quiet and calm, and placed your feet upon the shards of me I had yet to discover had been br ok en. Tell me, did your feet bleed? I heard you, sweeping up the jagged pieces of confidence that I would forget I lost and listened to you count the days, you knew, I would struggle to breathe. Help me, I’ve since forgotten the final count.
I think about that morning often, but what I think about most is how you worked to shelter me from the explosion.
I think about you, alone, quickly gathering the wreckage of a world I had lost; how you hid the evidence and strung up chords of hope and life-lines of m a y b e s. Piece-by-piece you buried the traces of tragedy; a memory between the sofa cushions, facts in the junk drawer, and watched, helplessly as I uncovered them all. I wonder, what were you thinking as you watched me discover fragility? Could you see the seconds eroding around us?
By late morning, on the day my world shattered, the air was cool and fresh. Could you smell it? The air burned with our unspoken thoughts, you busy praying that I’d survive and I frantically trying to remember how to b r e a t h e. I knew you couldn’t tell me all you knew and so I desperately wanted to tell you, you didn’t have to. On the morning my world shattered, I watched you shoulder the weight of what was left.
The afternoon my world shattered, I hated you.
Not because you’d done anything wrong but because you led me to believe that all the pieces were accounted for. I found the last one tucked carefully in your shirt pocket concealed against your chest. When I reached for it, it ripped open my hands and the pain made me wretch. I hated you because I wanted you to keep that piece hidden forever… even though you never could.
On the evening of the day my world shattered, I tried to put the pieces back together.
You found me, hidden away, shards of “before” scattered around me. I asked you for your help and, together, we picked the most PERFECT pieces and packed them away. The rest we allowed to be reclaimed by the slow passage of t i m e.
It’s been five years since my world shattered and I’ve done a lot with the pieces I’ve kept. Some I ground into powder, others I used as seed to sprout a fresh start. I have one that I pull out occasionally to admire – I like to watch it glint in the sunlight in all its NOSTALGIC GLORY. But my favorite is the piece I gave to you, the one that has become a very fiber of your being. It’s my favorite because I don’t have to go searching for it, it bleeds into everything you do, reminding me that my world never really shattered at all.
Thank you for my peace(s)
Stay humble, stay focused, and make no small plans.