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A Precious Heart

Shattered Pieces Renewed

By The Schizophrenic MomPublished 5 months ago 5 min read
A Precious Heart
Photo by Arthur Mazi on Unsplash

In the tender embrace of a craftsman's hands, my journey unfolded, born from the fragments of a life rich with experiences. Each hue, each shard, carried within it a tapestry of memories, woven from the colorful panes of a glass-filled storm door that my creator's children had helped stain. Each square a separate color as the little ones were taught that rainbows are what hold the promises of the future, the hopes of a life newly started.

With care and devotion, my creator fused together the shattered pieces of the door he destroyed out of necessity to give his bride a small piece of the life they were forced to leave behind by his devastating illness. Each shattered piece fused into a testament to the multitude of joys shared within the walls of their home for the last 40 years.

I could feel the laughter of children, their small hands eager to help, as they added their own touches to the vibrant door, the newly purple stained pane cracked as a fight over who could hold the paint brush ensued with their intense eagerness. I could feel the pain emanate through me at the daughter's first break-up as she slammed the storm door hard enough that the red pane cracked. The intense joy at the son's wedding in the backyard with the rainbow door in the background of his wedding photos, the cause for the yellow pane's crack his bride's shoe as he carried her over the threshold for a perfect photo. The happiness when the first grandchild was brought over as the blue pane was tapped just right by the car seat, cracking yet another pane of glass. The sorrow of having an empty nest when the last of the happy little hand's became big hands and moved onto a life of their own, the green pane somehow just cracked from age or longing one day. Each crack a reminder of the perfection of imperfect memories.

But beneath the surface of happiness of creating this one last stained glass piece for his beloved wife, there lay a current of sorrow, as my creator faced the harsh reality of illness. His occasional tear showed the intense longing that he wouldn't have to leave his bride, and his almost constant clearing of his throat as his worked made plain the sorrow he was feeling at his illness forcing him and his beloved out of the house they had purchased together so many years ago.

Even as their strength waned as their illness destroyed their body, my creator continued their labor of love, infusing each line of solder with the depth of their emotions. And so, amidst the colors and chaos, I took shape, a symbol of the bond between two souls intertwined in the life they had lived and promises to stay "in sickness and in health." Though the weight of my creator's mortality hung heavy in the air, I shimmered with the vibrancy of life, a beacon of hope in the face of adversity.

I watched as the world shifted around me, feeling the tender touch of adoration as I adorned the new home of my creators. My hues danced in the sunlight, casting a kaleidoscope of warmth and beauty upon those who beheld me. But as time passed, I became more than just an ornament; I became a vessel for memories, a repository of love, as my creator survived even longer than expected under the careful care of the hospital I watched him be wheeled to each day from my vantage point in the window.

Then came the day of upheaval, when grief descended like a shroud over the household. I felt the frantic energy as my surroundings were thrown into disarray, the voices urging haste as they echoed through the halls. I felt the thrill of going with my creator's grand-daughter as she carefully placed me in wrappings within a box. The flurry of activity, comforted me in some ways as it reminded me of the thing I was created from: little hands busily, eagerly helping.

It took a while of the silence before I realized that I had been left behind, forgotten in the rush to fulfill obligations. Alone and abandoned, I languished in the emptiness, yearning for the familiar embrace of my surroundings or even the feeling of the sun warming me, causing ohhs and ahhs from surrounding people with my colors glinting off of the walls. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that I had been cast aside, a casualty of circumstance.

I felt the ache of longing as my absence was finally noticed, the frantic search for what had been lost consuming those who had once cherished me. Their voices echoed with desperation, each inquiry a plea for my return. But despite their efforts, I remained elusive, a ghost of the past haunting their memories.

And then, in a moment of despair, I was found. I felt myself lifted high above the world, carried by hands that trembled with emotion. But then, a gasp as my savior lost their shaken grip on me and I tumbled to the ground in a shattered mess.

As I lay broken amidst the dust and dog hair on the floor, I could sense the tumult of emotions swirling around me. Was it laughter or tears that filled the air? I could not say as both laughter and tears come from the strong emotions that made me - both intertwined and both powerful in their equaling ways. But in that moment, I understood the depth of my significance, the enduring legacy of love that I carried within my fractured form.

The family who made me obviously still adored me as each shard was carefully, lovingly picked up to be placed in a box. The voice promised that I'd be born anew at a repair shop because even though I may be broken, my spirit remains unbroken - forever a testament of the enduring power of love. No matter what, I find solace in the knowledge that my story lives on, woven into the fabric of those who once held me dear.

After a few weeks at the repair shop, I returned to the grand-daughter where she tenderly hung me in the kitchen window. I will ever be a constant reminder of the fragility of existence, and yet, also of its enduring beauty. For within the confines of my newly repaired stained glass heart, beats the rhythm of several lives' lived fully, immortalized in the mosaic of memories that adorn my surface.

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About the Creator

The Schizophrenic Mom

I am a mother of 2 precious angels who drive me slightly more crazy

than I already am with a diagnosis of schizophrenia.

When asked "are you crazy?!" my favorite come back is:

"yes! And I have the papers to prove it! How about you?" LOL

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Comments (1)

  • Wendy M Fischer Faughn5 months ago

    This story made me cry to think about how many memories there is in one's life. I enjoyed it.

The Schizophrenic MomWritten by The Schizophrenic Mom

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