We have all seen broken things: dishes, computers, lamps, toys, and even limbs. But the broken heart is a trickier observation. I thought I knew about this kind of brokenness. After all, my past is littered with old boyfriends and missed opportunities and disappointments. I thought I knew.
But no. Now I walk within a crushing brokenness that has no comparison to anything I have experienced before. The outer ranges of who I am continue, that daily self still rises and makes breakfast, still feeds the dogs and picks up the mail: she is still functioning. Apparently I look fine; after all, I have been complimented on my strength and poise. The irony of observed strength compared to the life beneath is not lost on me.
Here’s what I know so far: I am not broken in a way that super glue or duct tape can repair. That woman self, the one before losing Mike, cannot be reconstructed into herself again. Instead, the inner shards must morph into a different construct. Grief of this kind adds colors and shapes that were unknown before. This is change of a monumental variety, yet hidden behind the cloak of function.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit. [Psalm 34:18, NIV]
And for this reason, it is really a God kind of time for it is only Spirit that can reshape from the inside out.
Meditations from Zion 
I am stilled to silence. I want to respond to this post but all that comes to me is an ache. No words. Know you are loved deeply.
Thanks. Really.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless 4G LTE smartphone
You have an amazing ability to paint a clear picture of your feelings which allows understanding at a soul level and the ability to feel it deeply. There is beauty if your picture. Praying sister.
Wow, Irm. Ditto the above posts. I’m speechless.
Thinking of you. It’s so hard. You will get through it. One step at a time.