Right out of my hand it fell to the tiled floor, a hopeless fall, a miracle if any glass or pottery could survive a nose dive on to a tiled floor. The break was heard as pieces shattered right and left. The cup's fall triggered a memory in me, one of long ago…
Years ago at my boyfriend's funeral, I carried a platter back to someone's car I do not know how but it fell from my hands and shattered on the sidewalk. In a daze, I bent down to pick up the broken pieces some of the pieces were easy to pick up as they were big, others were less easy as they were jagged or too sharp, some pieces were small and others I could barely see but knew they were there somewhere.
Just as his death had shattered those who loved him… many of the memories we had where big and would always be able to be recalled and felt, others memories would hold the moment of his death and those would hurt to hold as much as the jagged pieces could, and then there were moments that at that time we knew because he was a part of our daily lives, but as time went on those daily moments would vanish without a trace, leaving us with pieces that could never be made whole.
A broken cup gave way to a philosophical reflection.
When you cannot put the pieces together let it go.
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