I have a thing for broken things. Broken objects. Broken animals. I try to fix everything. I want to go into Conservation of Cultural Heritage, which is basically fixing broken things, oy they are a bit more impressive than re painting my Mum’s prized sugar tub.
I hate it when something can’t be fixed, be mended be made better. As a kid there was always another bird to be taken in, another animal to save. Another plant to hold up with bamboo sticks and another patch to sew. I even had a snail hosiptal in my shed, where I put them in plastic fruit tubs with holes poked in the lid. I would feed them food and hope that their shells would mend well enough to put them back outside. mostly they lived and they formed this hard casing of mucus around the broken pieces of their shell. Their little houses would slowly grow around the broken areas. When snails hibernate they put the same mucus across the opening of thier shells and curl right up and stay there.
Lot’s of things were broken when I lost Emmet.
Broken hearted. Broken life. Broken future. Broken dreams. Broken hope. Broken family. Broken faith.
I was like the snail stuck in a plastic pot. Enough air to breathe but unable to live until could heal the broken shell I was in.
I could not fix it without something to hold it together. That something for me was and is a someone. When I felt like nothing mkre than a broken shell pretending to be who I was before, the only thing that kept me even a little bit together was my Partner. His unending and steadfast love and determination not to let me sink helped to slowly piece back together the shell that I was. So did my friends.
Some things in my life have to remain broken. I know my heart can’t heal fully, and mostly that’s okay.