And then as I looked around and noticed many other stones, all broken in the same way, I was sickened as I realized that this was an act of vandalism. When I collected myself, I was determined to figure out how to repair the stones, and help the other families repair theirs as well.

I start to see that I surround myself with broken people; more broken than me. Ah, yes, let me count your cracks. Let's see, one hundred, two... yes, you'll do nicely. A cracked companion makes me look more whole, gives me something outside myself to care for. When I'm with whole, healed people I feel my own cracks, the shatters, the insanities of dislocation in myself.

We are sickened by the looting,

I'd rather have names to hurt me, than my bones broken with sticks and stones.

He hath also broken my teeth with gravel stones, he hath covered me with ashes.

There comes a moment, not measured with time, when you know that the past no longer holds regrets. Sadness slips away with an exhale and all the broken dreams become stepping stones to who you are now.