Broken Glass

19th-century writer Anton Chekhov said that you have to seize on the small details so that when the reader closes their eyes they can create the picture. “Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." Yesterday that glass shattered.


She was sharp, like the beautiful lethal edge of a samurai's blade. Aristocratic cheekbones and an aquiline nose combined with large bright eyes. She would study you when you spoke, like a raptor waiting for its opening. You could see her poised to strike with her brilliant wit, don't waste her time. Then she would smirk, or outright laugh and that smile dominated her face and carried you along with it, tumbling over the rocky shoals of dry and inappropriate humor.


Meg was a whirlwind of accomplishment who never felt she had done anything special, a motley package of insecurity and utterly amazing talent. She brought the discussion up to the bar and then made it drink tequila until it misbehaved. The last time I saw her was in this picture, when we all spoke together in Connecticut. I remember being so proud of us, I mean really, look at this - a bunch of kids from Jersey out there on the big stage. There was laughter (and likely some chicken & waffles) and just like I always did after spending some time with her, I wish I lived closer so I could have more. A few months later I would be headed for Alaska, and she was headed for the fight of her life.


My singular wish is that those she left behind scoop up those broken pieces of glass and hang on to them, keep them safe. So when her daughter, her little piece of immortality comes into the light, she will see Meg reflected back from all around her, sparkling remnants of a light gone too soon.



Margaret Chandler

Mother, Wife, Daughter, Nurse, Paramedic, Officer, Partner, Friend.

EOW 12/13/2019 @ 19:00

Shift change. Time to go home.



Thanks Meg, we'll take it from here.

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