The evening of August 19, 1990, after a supper of corn on the cob, with my parents, sister, brother, and grandmother from my mother’s side, was the last day I’d walk this world innocent, and untouched.

Previously that day, My sister, brother and I, went to the park, as we did most days in the summer. My sister took off her shoes while we played in the park, and when we wanted to come home, one of her shoes was missing. We couldn’t find it anywhere, so we headed home. My mother, was, of course, very disappointed because that would mean that my father would have to purchase new shoes. My mother, however, was and continues to be a stubborn bitch.

After a boring birthday party, I hate birthday parties, always have, she forced my brother and I to go back to the park to search for my sister’s shoes. I was 9 years of age, my brother was 7. We would look for some time, and never find it. Apparently it was across the street, but I was sent to the park to search for them, not the street.

My brother would eventually race across the large grassy terrain between the park, pool, and baseball field. Then come to the street, where we decided to race across, and at this point, my brother continues to lie to this day about that very action, as if he feels ashamed of this. I never made it across the street, I was struck in the forehead by the extended portion of the front hood of the city bus, a piece meant to hold the door open while they service the engine.

At this point, I have no idea I’ve been injured. I’ve been hit so hard I’m currently on the floor, and in a room being strangled by a green monster with suction cup type hands. I, the person I was, dies. When I’m finally conscience enough to realize I’m on the floor, I am surrounded by dozens of people, whom previously had been playing baseball.

My view starts to become pink from the blood rushing out of my forehead. A baseball player grabs some ice, and places it upon the open the wound. I scream in pain.

My brother ran home, almost gets crushed by two cars. Screaming I was dead, over and over.

Meanwhile, the ambulance comes, the paramedics kneel, and ask who I am, who is my mother, much of this is embedded into memory, but I refer to my mother, as mommy. Anything more than that, I can barely remember even to this day.

The paramedics start checking my life signs, and one asks if I can move my toes. I try to move my toes, no response. I try to move my legs, I can’t. I try to move, I’m paralyzed. I’m in pain, paralyzed, and bleeding out from my forehead. The paramedics decide to bring me to the hospital. I’m rushed into emergency, nurses, doctors examining my state. I puck, one nurse freaks out. She’s sent away. I puked into the MRI. I’ve suffered a severe concussion.

My memory has not come back to a useful slate, still a blank, still partially paralyzed. And, I’m told three things. I’d almost more than likely have to have the back plate of my head removed because of the pressure being exerted on my brain, never happened. I’m told I’d be a vegetable for life, I can walk, run bike. And, I’m told I’d never pass my eighteenth birthday, I’m turning 31.

For years I thought I was dying. For years I darkened. For years, I separated myself from the world. After all, how can one ever relate to another human being. When you’ve seen death, face to face. You are no longer the average human you were before. It is the single most revealing detail about my life, and the explanation for everything I am.

So, what does this mean for me, to this day. I’ve still never completely recovered the memories I had before the accident. And my parents never once brought me to see a doctor to get me an MRI after my accident. I had several other issues with breathing, heart rate, and conscientiousness, and even those weren’t ever addressed by a doctor. I had to have the minimum legal age to see a doctor and be told, sorry it is too late to treat those injuries.

I have been burdened by the scar on my face, above the right eye, since the age of 9. And, yet, even if it has been faded by time, I still see it as clear as day. It is my strength, and weakness, simultaneously. I’m constantly in pain, and for years I even had flashbacks of my accident, dreams of the green monster strangling me, over and over and over. Dying, over and over again, in my dreams.

Yes, I went crazy, yes it still drives me crazy, but what do you want me to do. I, now, refer to myself as the darkness becomes light, because of another event of my life that would turn my own point of views of life on its head. I was 18 years of age. The very time I was supposed to die. I’m so convinced I’m dying, that I actually want to die. I, even, write a letter to a friend saying my goodbyes. This girl, whom I won’t name, probably saved me from myself. She is the first person to ever treat me as a friend, and she held me close, didn’t want me to leave. This event would be the event that turned my darkness to light. To this day I am sure I have tainted her soul, but she was there for me at a time where even my parents would sooner scold me, hit me, and bully me. Thank you, friend, for everything you have done!

This event has made myself stronger, and no doubt it has forever changed my life. I no longer fear death, I embrace the fact of end. I understand it is the single most important reason to why we all need to be our best, to do our best, to be that friend someone else may need. And, out of life, we learn how to be courageous, to be truth, and to be the light in someone’s day. I regret nothing of my own life, and decisions, even if it means I am no longer part of the family of Smith’s. I refuse to align myself with bullies, traitors, liars, and slave drivers.

What is your reason for being you, what makes you special, and have you ever sacrificed something, anything in your own life?