The wind must have grabbed it while we were out. It must have taken hold of the oversized umbrella and flipped the entire table, shattering the glass top directly on the deck. It must have done this because when we came home we found the thousands of pieces and the heavily bent umbrella.
It was the hottest few days of the summer so far and the only relief was that umbrella. The cool air at night was so beautiful when sitting around that table. Grilling out or simply bringing the leftovers to the deck for one more experience with them, made the day just fine.
Nothing is fine now. The table is broken. My wife is leaving for one of the last times to see her dying mother, and all she can do is study for her final exams. She spent almost 12 hours today at Starbucks, trying not to feel everything that she has ever right to feel. And I tried to think of something that I could possibly do or say. I was unsuccessful in that regard. Everything feels utterly shattered.
But my kids aren’t. They survive, as they jumped through water fountains in the park today. They saw the shattered table and just wanted to watch it get cleaned up. I wish I could say that with that single act of cleaning up, that the rest of it would be okay too. It isn’t likely, at least not for a while.