As pertains to the mysteries of yesterday, more has been unravelled, yet the extra clues only lend more mystery to the situation.
I stepped outside, into our garage this morning to fetch a fresh gallon of milk. We have an extra refrigerator out there for keeping surplus foods. Thus extra milk is out there.
I strolled up to the fridge, with my eyes downcast, as always, and there, next to the glistening white refrigerator, was my mother's cell phone. And it was smashed. Utterly crashed and mangled beyond repair. Far beyond repair. The glass on the view screen was shattered, the back of the cell phone had been ripped off and was no longer one whole piece. The bottom was white and strained and the edges were broken and jagged. Even the chip had been torn from the phone and deliberately smashed. The only thing still intact, appeared to be the battery.
But to see the damage, to see how bad that was... My heart dropped into my feet and I began to shake violently. I almost began to cry. Because I knew my mom could never do that, no matter how angry, she could not do that much damage to a phone. It had to have been my father. And I know he is destructive in extreme anger, but only in extreme anger. Thus to smash that phone, his rage must have been immense. I can imagine him. I can imagine how he would look, the contortions of his face, the angry grunts and yells as he tore apart the phone with whatever means he was using. Whether it was a sledge, a hammer, or something else entirely.
But what did she do that would push him to that sort of anger? Or maybe it really wasn't anger? Perhaps there is another explanation here which I cannot fathom? What is going on between them?
I am frightened. I have to admit that. I am upset, depressed, and frightened by all of this.
Now one could tell me, that some people have it worse. In fact, most people have it worse I am sure. There are some with parents that hit each other hard, and argue loudly and violently, in front of their kids. There are some children without parents at all. There are some children with abusive parents. Some children only have one parent. You could tell me any number of things, and its true, the scuffles between my parents could be much worse. This situation could be far more serious.
But you can't tell me that that means I can brush it off and be happy that my parents aren't fighting worse. Yes, I am thankful and grateful that their fighting isn't as extreme as some couples, and I am not claiming that I am, by any means, in the worst situation ever. No, but still, that does not make this any easier for me to bear. For my life, for my cicrumstances, for how things go normally in my life, this is very bad. This is very crushing. I don't care to compare to other people because that won't make me happy, that won't ease my pain, that won't end my parents fighting. It still stands. And this is tough.
And intermingled in the mangled ruins of that cell phone, were the further shattered remains of my rose colored glasses. I can only hope that they are not broken beyond repair.
Gazes down at her lacerated, bloody, glue covered hands, then looks over to her shattered glasses and sheds a tear then closes her eyes and turns her face upward
I must let Him fix them...
Thank you Cyrik...