Everyone has moments of impact. They determine our future. Car accidents. Marriage. Amputation. Children. All part of a life-changing impact. My ceaseless impact has lasted eight years. My world has been flipped, turned, shrunk, scratched, and imperfected in every way possible. I have been broken and alone, with nobody to lean on. How does a nine year old cope with so much pain? How does a nine year old run out of tears? How does a nine year old watch a constant struggle within her family? Get up. Go to school. Come home. The “normal” routine of a child. I never knew the next few moments, days, weeks, months, years, would change my life forever.
Walking down the hallway, it’s easy to notice the excitement of the students for the day to end and to be reunited with the their parents. The day is almost over, and everyone is ready to be home. The hallway is filled with “I can’t wait to go home!”, “I want to tell my mom about my day!”, and “I wonder what is for dinner tonight!” This is the usual chatter from a nine year old, and I was right along with them. After waiting through five minutes of surging anticipation, the bell finally rings! My mother came to pick me up from school, and I couldn’t be more excited to see her! I run up and attack her with a huge hug! We hold hands as we walk down the hallway and out the door to the car. I walk up to the front door of the car, and watch as my mother gives me the look of “I don’t think so. Get in the back.” Moms are good at using unspoken language. I frown and walk to the back, open my door, and jump in the car. We are on our way home when suddenly, my favorite song is on the radio! I sing very obnoxiously at the top of my lungs until mom does that unspoken voodoo thing again. After what seems like seven hours, we are finally home. I grab my backpack and run inside and hug my dog tight. Next, I run to find my sister, Shelby. She is three years older than I, and we are the best of friends. Lately, she’s been a little cranky, but I squeeze her tight anyway. Shelby and I go to sit at our “study table” until my dad returns home from work. When he walks in the door, everyone rushes for the first hug, it’s a tradition in my house. We all fight until each of us has our turn for a hug. By that time, dinner is almost ready. We are having lasagna. The family sits down and eats together, then cleans together to follow. The “normal” for my household. This time though, my sister refuses to help. She refuses to do anything, especially anything with the family. Then, BAM. Moment of impact. She punches dad, something that has never happened. He puts her in a safe hold to try to calm her down while my mother rushes me to my room so I won’t see. My eyes flood with tears along with my mothers. I feel her tears drip on my hand as we rush out of the room. After thirty minutes or so of waiting in my room, I walk out. I need to know what’s wrong. Shelby is in her room, my parents are outside on the porch, both in tears. I walk outside and they quickly dry their eyes. They welcome my sopping self into open arms.
“Why did this happen?” I ask. I need to know the answers.
“Well, we don’t really know. I wish we knew all the answers, but we don’t. But we are still a family. We still love her. She still loves you. I bet she would like it if you went and gave her a hug.” My mother explains.
I slowly wander back in the house and go straight for my sister’s room. I’m scared, shaking. I lift my shaking fist to slowly knock on her door. Knock. Knock. Knock. The response feels like an eternity. Finally, the door is opened. My sister is standing over me, with a bloody wrist. As soon as I notice the blood the door is slammed in my face and tears flood my eyes, once again. I run to my parents and they quickly know that something is wrong. They jump up, mom grabbing me and dad running to my sister’s room. He bursts through the door and quickly grabs a towel and my