Shattered. Broken. Damaged. All descriptors I have used to describe my life at various times. I’ve been shattered. It’s hard to explain being shattered to someone who has never been there.

One afternoon on the way home from work, I was following a truck that was loaded with Large sheets of glass. The driver hit a bump and one of the sheets bounced out of the truck and hit the pavement in front of me. It shattered instantly and my car and several around me were showered in a rainbow of colors as the shards of glass bounced off of the pavement and back over us. There was no lasting damage to any of the vehicles, but that pane of glass was destroyed. That’s how I felt. Totally destroyed and torn apart. I couldn’t begin to pick up the pieces. The world continued to spin and the people around me kept living their lives. My life lay in sharp, sparkly pieces all around me. I was almost afraid to touch any of those pieces, fearing the cutting pain that comes from brushing against the sharp edges that were so newly exposed.

I knew I had to pick up the pieces around me. There was much pain and many tears as the sharp edges stabbed and cut while trying to reconstruct my life. As time passed, I learned how to carefully pick up the pieces so the pain was not too severe. Scars were forming that offered a tougher exterior that was harder to tear apart and the sharp edges were dulling with time and wear. I assembled a large collection of broken pieces. I stored them away in pretty containers that hid the ugly edges from view. The fragments caught the light and sometimes sparkled and danced for those that cared to look. And in the dark of night, I would often get those pieces out, survey the damage and try once again to fit them together. Trying to match those sharp edges together to form something that was part memory and part dream. Something that didn’t hurt when I touched it.

Over months and years, I suppose, many pieces have been reassembled. There are pieces that still don’t fit. And, there are gaps where some pieces are missing. There are lots of cracks and it’s not always pretty to observe. I still spend time in the darkness trying to figure out where the next piece belongs. You can see the original form is still there. It’s just not quite right.

There are days, when the light shines just right, that all the cracks and gaps emit a beautiful rainbow of color. I’m still broken, but there is beauty to be seen if only for a moment. Its worth the wait for a glimpse of what used to be.