Unapologetically Broken

I read a blog post today by Linda at All and Sundry that describes the Japanese art of Kintsugi or Kinsukuroi, which means "golden joinery or golden repair." She explains that it's the process of "fixing broken pottery with lacquer resin dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum."

It's counter-intuitive, to think of making a repair that highlights faults instead of trying to disguise them, but it also creates an incredibly beautiful piece of pottery:

picture from All & Sundry

Linda writes, "Do you see the glory in the bowl's faults? How nothing is disguised or hidden, but rather brought into the light and made beautiful, thanks to the cracks that once broke it apart?"

I stared at that photo for a moment, admiring the gold lines running through it--evidence of an unexpected accident that has been crafted into something beautiful.

And, like pretty much everything these days, it made me think about Eliza.

I still cringe at the idea of assigning  "silver lining" to Eliza's death, even though I can't deny that having her and, yes, losing her, brought good things into my life. There's still no fair recompense for having lost my baby, although I acknowledge that I am lucky to have discovered meaningful friendships and connections, defined my priorities, strengthened my marriage, and had two more babies in the wake of such a tragedy.

Do not misunderstand; I'm still broken.

I do like this idea, though, that missing her doesn't have to always be a raw and ugly shattering. In fact, maybe as I piece myself and my life back together, Eliza will be the shining gold that runs through it.

Still undeniably--unapologetically--broken, but also held together by a love that is indifferent to death.