In 7th grade, by my calculations somewhere around 40 years ago, we took a field trip to the state capital in Sacramento. Even then, I loved old things. I bought a super old, ceramic medicine dispenser and a Vaseline container from an antique shop. At age 18 when I got married, those items, an old thermometer and usually a candle have sat on the back of the toilet everywhere I've lived...which has been a lot of places! I've raised five kids, had rambunctious boys in my house, had tons of people use the bathroom and that little antique ceramic medicine dispenser has been unscathed...until I lived with people who didn't respect me, value my things, or understand the meaning of memories in symbols.
Someone in that house broke it. And left it. On the ground. Next to the toilet. And never had the decency to say "Hey, Steph, I broke your thing on accident." I found it..and I cried. I picked up the pieces that could be put back together. When I left, I brought the broken pieces with me. In this apartment, the broken pieces have sat on the back of the toilet...with a candle, the Vaseline container, the old thermometer. Today, for some reason, I decided to super glue it back together. There are some chips missing, there is a huge crack, but it's as whole as it's ever going to be.
Two years ago today, a decision was made to turn off my sister's life support. By far, the hardest, worst, most painful decision I've ever made in my life. I broke that day. And for two years I've been broken in pieces. I may look like I'm not broken, but I am. I may sit in the place I'm supposed to sit, where I've always been, but I'm broken.
What is the super glue that puts me back together? There's a huge crack where my sister used to be. There are chips gone that will forever be missing. But what's the glue that puts the pieces of me back together?
Is this as whole as I'm ever going to be?