Glass House

It's been a while since I've written a personal post. But these words have been floating around in my mind and heart for a week, and I finally let - or made- myself put them down.
You may not know this, but I'm grieving. I'm also tired. Mostly, I'm tired of grieving. But it's okay. And it will be okay. And maybe you need to hear this, too.

Glass House

"How are you?" They ask.

"I'm fine." I say.

And most days, I mean it. I'm not 'good' - but I'm better than 'okay'. And really, it's not fair of them to expect much more from me.

After all, life isn't easy inside the glass house of grief.

I can't help feeling it. Exposed. Everywhere I go. Everyone I meet. I wonder, "Are my curtains drawn tight enough? Can they see?" Because I know- I know- if they took the time to look closely, they would see it all. You can't hide behind transparent walls.

Everything was stable, secure, and safe. And in one moment- one instant, frozen forever in the endless drift of time- everything changed.

Fragile. Precarious. Exposed.

Wounded. Still bleeding. Half-alive. Pieced together. Barely breathing.

I'm fine.

Just don't look too closely.  You might see through my "socially acceptable" smile. My "polite conversation". My "normal life".

The glass house came down again last week. Shattered from the inside. I don't remember what triggered the collapse. It doesn't matter anymore.

I know when it's coming. I can feel the cracks forming, hear the soft splintering sound as the fissure spreads. Reaching out, never satisfied. It grows.

So does my panic. I feel it building inside me. The explosion. The loss of control. There's nothing I can do to stop it. It's time to hide.

I curl into a ball. I hold myself together while I fall apart. And it comes.

The explosion. Again. And again. And again. Like waves against the shore. Powerful, destructive, relentless- it radiates out from me.

Like Jericho, my crystal fortress lies in ruins at my feet. I don't like to lose control. And yet, there's a bitter beauty to it all.

This... is real.

My shattered, broken heart laid bare. Raw, exposed, unprotected. Such a strange relief.

I am myself.

Light breaks through the smoke of my destruction.

It falls from heaven, reflects off each and every piece of glass. Color erupts around me.

Ah yes. The breathtaking glory found in the midst of this place of death.

And yet, I choose to rise again. The Light reminds me I cannot stay here in this ruin. My hands are strengthened. My heart, re-bound. I take up the shards.
I bleed. I feel the pain of all that's wrong with my world. I keep working.

Piece by piece, life fits together again. The glass house shines in the light of a new day. Because life, you see, must go on.

I am not destroyed. I am whole.

I am...fine.

For now.