Before the EMTs arrived, I felt this grit in my teeth, I felt the glass all over my legs, all over the seat. I was covered in it. I remember being terrified that I would be cut everywhere through my clothing because as I shifted in the driver’s seat, I could feel it moving around as if I was swimming in it. I kept asking if I was cut everywhere. I wasn’t. When they lifted me out of the car onto the backboard, I felt relieved to finally be away from it, yet the glass was still in my hair, in my face.
When I left the hospital bed, I remember seeing more glass on the bed where my head was. It must have been trapped in my hair. I ran my hand through the strands that came loose from my pony tail and felt the glass falling through my fingers. When I got home, I showered to rinse all of it out. For the next few days, I felt glass bits come out of the side of my face, like shrapnel. They were small, but still, they were everywhere.
It was everywhere.
The bin full of items from my car had glass mixed in amongst the papers, the bags, and the sheet music. As I pulled out the easter eggs from a school activity I had planned, my heart sank and I felt the anxiety start to rise. Every plastic egg had a piece of glass inside of it. I couldn’t bear it. I put everything back in the bin. I hid it from myself, yet every time I walked by, I felt the glass on my feet.
It took me over three weeks to finally open that bin. I collected all of the glass, my heart racing. I put it in jewelry bag. It looked surprising pretty and I was glad to find there was much less of it than I thought. It wasn’t easy.
Yesterday, I took the glass out. I actually felt happy as saw it sparkling in my hand, a stark contrast from the last few weeks. With a little encouragement from my husband, I finally was able to do what I had planned. I made art from it. A simple cross on a glass frame, but enough. Enough to try to put the pieces back together. From pain to beauty. From near death to life again. It seems fitting that the season is changing from Winter to Spring. I am coming to life, a daffodil blooming at the first bit of sunshine and warmth.