Tempered Glass
When strong, resilient, tempered glass shatters, it shatters into 1,000 pieces.
When strong, resilient, tempered glass shatters, it shatters into 1,000 pieces. We’re immediately faced with disbelief, fear, resistance, avoidance, and sometimes, absolute rejection.
That did not just happen.
What am I going to do?
I do not want to get hurt.
I do not want to deal with this.
I need help.
I cannot do this.
I am not doing this.
Then, we’re faced with risk. If I take a step forward, I may step right on top of a sharp, jagged blade of glass, wounding myself.
But we keep going.
Because we must.
When we clear that first path, sweeping away the pain points, we’ve made space. Daunting still, glares of tiny shards hit the bright sun’s cast in the floor’s cracks, but we can stand in the hope now.
The process takes time.
We may yell at those close by, “Don’t come near here!”
We may cry tears of loss and sorrow. “It was my favorite glass.”
We may blame those who stand to watch. “You distracted me!”
We may push away a helping hand. “I got it.”
We may curse at the jolt of a puncture. “Ouch. Damn it!”
But we keep going.
Because we must.
As the broken glass disappears,
and our home is clean,
we once again learn to breathe.
We have added gratitude for its ease,
yet the weight of a scar from its pain.
Both can exist.
It’s just a shift.
We learn to accept,
and say sorry for the spew of vulgar air.
We leave behind regret.
We leave behind any care.
No new can be revealed without shedding its old.
Yet my heart feels less warm,
dare I say cold?
But we keep going.
Because we must.
Years later,
the kids are grown now, families of their own.
Husband’s gone, ashes on my chest of drawers near the framed lyrics of our wedding song.
Sweet old pup, he’s buried beneath the big oak tree.
And I’m home, where my heart will always be.
It’s still, calm, clear, and quiet.
I finally feel ready to sweep a little further beneath the stove.
And there, in the bright sun’s cast on the floor’s old cracks, lies a small shining piece of glass.
When strong, resilient, tempered glass shatters, it shatters into 1,000 pieces.
I bend over, slowly now.
It takes all my gratitude, all my weight.
But I keep going.
Because I must.
I place the glass in my left palm and use the delicate skin of my right pointer to caress the smooth, cube-like surface.
I freely carry it to the trash.
Those scary edges don’t sting like they used to. Maybe they never really did in the past.
Every word I share here comes from the depths of my heart, and I hope a few have found their way to yours. ❤️
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Such a beautiful poem about resilience! Thank you! 🙏
Hannah, what a wonderful piece. Thank you for sharing.