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Broken Frame, Broken Soul

I was 28 years old when my dad suddenly died.  I was devastated!  I had adored him and much of who I was, much of who I am, I attribute to him.  As I worked through my grief in the months following his death, I came to picture my life as a stained glass window made up of multiple pieces of different shaped, different sized glass.  The piece that had been my dad had been a big piece and it was suddenly gone – its absence let the wind of despair blow through.  Over time, I learned to patch that piece and to rearrange the other pieces so that the wind no longer howled.  The make-up of my window changed after that and has changed many times since, but it has always been held together by a frame made up of my firm beliefs about life – my belief about the difference between right and wrong, my belief in the intrinsic good in the world, my belief in karma – that what we send out comes back to us.  Now, while my stained glasses pieces are still intact, my frame has been badly bent.  The core of my being, my personal beliefs about right and wrong have been challenged and I’m left wondering how to hold the pieces of stained glass together when the frame is all askew.