Some Things Are Hurtful, But Everything Is Meaningful

Each morning's weather that month had been okay, but there was nothing but blue skies that fateful day

Voices of pessimists swirled in my head, but I tried to focus on the crippling silence instead

Every fiber of my body was tingling with anxiety, but I steadied my breathing so no one could tell what was going on inside of me

Ready for the worst news possible to come out, I braced myself on the living room couch

Yesterday had gone well, so the purpose of this family meeting was quite the mystery to tell

The air was heavier than what I was used to, but finally, my father cleared his throat to say what he and my mother were about to do

His eyes were misty, and it was obvious he didn’t want to speak; he probably feared seeming too weak

It was only the second time that I’d ever seen him cry, which only made my stomach churn with more butterflies

Nothing would prepare me for the words that were about to spill; they were like verbal barrels rolling down a big hill

Going from family unit to rubble in a few seconds or more, he released the syllables like a caged animal: divorce

It was calm shock for the first moments that unfurled, but then it felt like an earthquake was shaking my world

Seismic waves of change rushed through the house, making it a structure rather than a home where we'd all lived together for a good amount

My heart was thumping with pain for the first time in my life; it was like I’d lost a dear friend after strife

Everyone was in tears, including me. I had no premonition, no warning, and no hunch to see

And now, two years after that turbulant, yet sunny day, I sit here with more wisdom than ever, quietly eating my lunch at bay

No wound is forever, even if it was made by shards of your broken home back in November

I’ve never forgotten that sad moment, but I’ve never let it define who I am or where I'm going

Nice memories of the way my family was before make me weep, but they also make me smile and leap

Gashes are stitched, and rubble is rebuilt. Maybe it’s imperfect, but my scars hold resilience, not guilt

Fun moments don’t always require a white picket fence; sometimes perfect is as boring as homework and silence

Unity is something my siblings and I share now; a common hardship often brings people closer somehow

Life has moved forward since that one sunny morning, and I am a lot stronger now for it