For the girl who saved my life

I heard my daughter crying, so I was heading to the kitchen. I turned the corner when the thick smell of copper washed over me, and suddenly I’m in my childhood kitchen, my mom’s favorite knife in my hand covered in blood. The sensation of shock and lightheadedness filled my body over the fact that I had slit my wrist. I hadn’t realized I was doing it until then. It was like I had blacked out because of my years of emotional torment; I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I dropped the knife and immediately wrapped a towel around my wrist and sank to the floor, and thought about what to do next. I couldn’t go through with it, but I didn’t want them to know I had even tried. So, I went and bandaged myself up, changed clothes, and put my blood-soaked clothes in the wash before I went and cleaned up the kitchen. I wore long sleeve shirts and sweatshirts for months, and then I found a bracelet that hid my scare, and I never took it off until I had to for work years later. Even though nobody said a thing, I was still uncomfortable about it and covered it up with a tattoo. 

Next thing I know, I’m on the school bus on my way home thinking that I wouldn’t chicken out like last time when she sat next to me and smiled. “ Hi, want to come over to my house”? I remember thinking that we had never hung out before and had only talked a few times over the years. When I said,  “Um, I don’t know. I told my mom I was going straight home”. I did not want her to interfere with my plans. She replied, “ well, can’t you just call her and ask if you can come over? I only live a block away. I’m sure she won’t mind.” She stared at me with her big blue eyes, waiting for me to call my mom. So I did and went to her place. After that day, every time I was to be alone for the next three years, she insisted that we hang out; I was rarely out of her sight.

Then I’m back to my first apartment after college, and I hear her voice calling my name, and my heart aches; oh how I’ve missed that voice. I walk into the kitchen, look down, and see her clutching a towel to her foot. She looks up at me, “ I dropped a glass, and when I went to clean it up, I stepped on a piece, and now my foot won’t stop bleeding. Would you get the first aid kit”? I replied, “Of course.” As I was walking to the bathroom, I couldn’t help but think that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. She saved me, insisted on it. She was always so stubborn. It was one of the things I loved about her. When I walk back to the kitchen, it’s dark, and she’s gone. Suddenly my cellphone rings. I immediately remember what happens next. I’m now in a ball on the cold kitchen floor crying, and I won’t stop for over a week. I will never forget that call for the rest of my life. “ Honey, she’s gone. A car accident this morning on her way to work. She died on impact, so she didn’t suffer. I’m so sorry, sweetie”. I hung up and collapsed under the weight of my heartbreaking and my world taring apart. I was so blissfully happy before that phone call. My life was finely on the right track, or so I thought. 

 As tears run down my face remembering that day, I start hearing voices all around, and then I’m sitting in a fold-out chair at her memorial surrounded by over 200 people. It didn’t surprise me, everyone who met her loved her. I found out I wasn’t the only one she saved; it was just something she did. She had such a big heart and so much left to do. I remember being hurt because a few people had mentioned that they didn’t understand why I was there, but no one understood who she was to me. I felt like it was personal, so I never really told anyone. So now, I keep it inside even though I still hurt years later. It’s like she died yesterday for me. I sometimes have to remind myself that she’s gone. With her passing, I reevaluated my life and realized I was doing what others expected of me, not what makes me happy, what I always wanted to do since I was five. She had always encouraged me to do what made me happy and not what others wanted for me. So, I moved and went back to school. I turned my life around; I finally started to live for myself. Her death was a horrible thing, but it got me to live instead of being a mindless zombie who did what somebody told her. I finally listened to her, but it pains me to think that she had to die for that to happen. How could I have been so stubborn about it, but all I had ever know was to do what they told me. I had needed her to convince me that it was ok to do what I wanted and to be me. I didn’t need to think about what they would wish I would do before I did anything. I was only required to consider whether it was something I wanted to do and how it would affect those around me. 

Suddenly I’m back, and I find my daughter sitting on the kitchen floor, crying with her knees to her chest. I can see the blood from her scraped knees. She looks up at me with her wet eyes, “ I fell, mommy.” She pouts, “ can you kiss them better?” 

“Of course, sweetie,” I respond, thinking that I can’t believe how lucky I am to have the life I do. All because of a sweet girl who went out of her way when she saw I was struggling. Not only did she save my life, but she also changed my way of thinking about it. I will always be thankful and sad that I can never repay her for it.