A few weeks after my first wife, Georgia, was called to heaven, I was cooking dinner for my son and myself. For a, I had decided on frozen peas. As I was cutting open the bag, it from my hand and crashed to the floor. The peas, like marbles, everywhere. I tried to use a broom, with each swipe they just rolled across the kitchen． For the next week, every time I was in the, I found a pea---in a corner, or behind a table leg. They kept. Eight months later I pulled out the refrigerator to clean behind it, and 12 frozen peas hidden underneath． At the time I found those few remaining , I was in a new relationship with a wonderful I’d met in a support group. After we married, I was remindedthose peas under the refrigerator, and realized that my had been like that bag of frozen peas. It had shattered（破碎）. My wife had died; I was in a new city with a busy job, and with a son having trouble his new surroundings and the of his mother. I was a bag of spilled frozen peas; my life had come apart and scattered． When life gets you, when everything you know comes apart, and when you think you’ll never, remember that it’s just a bag of scattered frozen peas. The peas can be , and life will move on. You’ll find all the peas, including the ones that are hardest to find. And when you’ve got themyou’ll start to feel whole again． The life you know can break apart at any time. But you’ll have to, and how fast you collect your peas depends on you. Will you keep scattering them around with a broom, will you pick them up one by one and put your life back together?