I couldn’t wait to get my ears pierced for the first time. Symptoms include: irritation or infection. I showed off my diamond studs with the utmost poise. My stick straight blonde hair was neatly tucked behind my ears to show my kindergarten class what I had and what they didn’t.
Eight years old, I’m holding hands with two other girls on a swing set with three swings. We start leaning back to plunge further into the air. Head to gravel. I go to the nurse and apply ice. My mom takes me to the doctor who tells me I’ve cracked my head open but will not need stitches. Thank goodness.
Age fifteen and I ask, “Dad, will I need to wear a jacket?” “You shouldn’t have to”. I step out on the deck anyway. Coming back in, I release my hold on the door before I have time to bring my right foot inside. The edge catches my ankle and digs a hole to the bone. Taken to the ER, I get two stitches and get to wear an ankle wrap. Out of gym for a couple days.
Fifteen and a half. My mom sits my older sister and me down, holding our hands and softly telling us, “Your father took his life”. Weightless, lifeless, helpless. Symptoms include: confusion, grief, pain, and sadness. Love from family and friends stitch up the holes that I feel in my heart. I keep my head held high.
