I saved the glass.
Three years ago, January 21, 2014, I emerged from a seizure in my car covered in broken glass.
I was fine. I had my foot on the brake when it happened, so they’d only had to break my window to get me out, but those pieces went everywhere.
When the window was replaced, most of it was cleaned up, but tiny sparkles always emerged from their hiding places. I kept finding them. For days after.
Three years after.
In my coat pocket. In my purse. Beneath the car seats. In the center console. Wedged between the carpet and the plastic of the car door frame.
The ones that I couldn’t reach with the vacuum cleaner glittered at me every time I got behind the wheel, almost mocking me with their winks and sparkles. I had conquered my fear of driving, and that glass represented that fear. It was hard to look at. I had to make a conscious effort to avert my eyes when those sparkles beckoned. It represented my mortality.
But it also represented my miracle.
So I peeled the sticker off a lint roller and went after it.
It was pretty, in a way, even stuck to that lint roller paper along with the dog hair and crumbs and dead bugs and sand.
It was beautiful and broken. It spoke to me.
So I made something out of it.
It involved pink styrofoam and concrete and a broken mirror I had lying around and a lot of punching and even more tears.
But most of all, it involved healing.