A few weeks after my first wife, Georgia...

A few weeks after my first wife, Georgia, was called to heaven, I was cooking dinner for my son and myself. For a   16 , I had decided on frozen peas. As I was cutting open the bag, it   17  from my hand and crashed to the floor. The peas, like marbles,   18  everywhere. I tried to use a broom,   19  with each swipe they just rolled across the kitchen．

For the next week, every time I was in the   20 , I found a pea---in a corner, or behind a table leg. They kept   21 . Eight months later I pulled out the refrigerator to clean behind it, and   22  12 frozen peas hidden underneath．

At the time I found those few remaining   23 , I was in a new relationship with a wonderful   24  I’d met in a support group. After we married, I was reminded 25  those peas under the refrigerator, and realized that my   26  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   27  his new surroundings and the  28  of his mother. I was a bag of spilled frozen peas; my life had come apart and scattered．

When life gets you   29 , when everything you know comes apart, and when you think you’ll never  30 , remember that it’s just a bag of scattered frozen peas. The peas can be  31 , and life will move on. You’ll find all the peas   32 , including the ones that are hardest to find. And when you’ve got them   33  you’ll start to feel whole again．

The life you know can break apart at any time. But you’ll have to   34 , and how fast you collect your peas depends on you. Will you keep scattering them around with a broom,  35  will you pick them up one by one and put your life back together?