Krazy Glue

When I was a child I thought Krazy Glue was liquid magic. It could put just about anything back together even if it was in the smallest of pieces. I remember we had antique George and Martha Washington statues that used to sit on a hall stand in between my sister’s room and my room and one day I was running after her or she was running after me and we knocked into it and knocked the statues over shattering them into many pieces. I gasped and then cried knowing how devastated my mother would be that I killed George and Martha but instead she sighed and said “David, get the Krazy Glue”. And he brought that shit out and glued the pieces together and it was as good as new. Almost. When you looked carefully under the light you could see the imperfect seams that held the broken parts together. When you ran your fingers over the dolls you could feel the rough ridges where one broken piece met the whole. But overall? If you just glanced at them sitting on the hall stand? They were perfect and complete. Well, as perfect and complete as George and Martha could be.

In reflection, the hardest part was not the gluing that stuck them back together but finding all the pieces; the ones that got stuck under the hall stand or the ones that got flung underneath one of our doors into the disaster area that was our rooms. It was getting down on hands and knees and searching for the pieces and then figuring out where they went so that they made George and Martha and not Donald Trump. I’m sorry not sorry couldn’t help it. Once we had all the pieces and laid out where they went It was holding piece after piece up and seeing how it fit and then trying again and again and again until it clicked. Literally clicked. And when it finally clicked and we heard the angels sing as it did we breathed a sigh and moved onto the next until we had a whole good as new statue. Almost. Because really it wasn’t good as new, it was better. It showed that it was loved so much that it was worth putting back together. Every single crack and crevice that showed through was a reminder of the painstaking process of fixing it. It was worth so much more like this because it showed how much we were willing to invest in it to put the pieces back in place. Even the piece on the underneath where I wrote the imaginary name I gave it. Especially that piece.

And as we pick up the pieces of my daughter and help her put them back together this is what comes to mind. The struggle of finding the pieces was the most difficult as well as finding the right kind of glue that would truly hold her together for the long run. Knowing where each piece fit was hard as sometimes we had to put a piece down and start over again with a different piece or a different place in her. But putting it together now? It takes patience but it is not the painful process it was previously. Now it has become more soothing and calming and joyous even at times. And it’s not just the pieces of her; it’s the pieces of my marriage, of my relationship with my other daughter, of my relationships with my friends, of my work, of everything. The pieces are falling into place and now it’s a matter of holding them together with all the right glue: love, understanding, kindness, truth, and patience to name a few. And as the pieces start to fit and stick, I see glimpses of that whole person I lost in my child. The light of the room, the beautiful soul that had no worries, the sparkle of energy, the funniest and most entertaining human I’d ever met, and the love of my life. And I see the cracks every so often if I look really close, but mostly? Mostly I see the whole, healed person she once was and is again. And this is good. Because really, we all have our cracks (yes, besides on our asses) and they are what make us the unique and beautiful creatures we really are because it shows we are loved enough by others and ourselves to put the pieces back together.

Thus ends my ode to Krazy Glue. Bonus points to those who remember the commercials with the guy who Krazy glued his hard hat to a beam and hung there. That shit’s for real.

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