I Know I’m Here for a Reason
I know I’m here for a reason.
I started life three months early, weighing only two pounds. I spent six months in an incubator. Considering the technology they had back then, it’s honestly a miracle I survived.
When I was about nine or ten years old, my brother and I went down to the neighborhood pond. Looking back now sends shivers down my spine. We didn’t think about alligators, amoebas, or anything dangerous — but we knew we weren’t supposed to go in that water.
I remember swinging on the limb of a palm tree, ready to jump in. But at the last second, I got scared and didn’t let go. I slammed my head into the tree. The pain is still clear to me, like it happened yesterday.
I was seeing triple — not even double. But we waited to go home so we could dry off. When we finally got there, I started throwing up. It was so bad my sister even made me a get-well card. My parents never knew, and they’ll never know, because they’ve both passed away.
I could have died that day from a bad concussion.
I don’t know why I’m still here, but there must be a reason. I’ve been through so much in my life. Maybe it’s because I have someone now who loves me and treats me like a queen. Maybe I’m meant to live this humble life for the rest of my days.
Or maybe it’s this blog. Maybe my writing will inspire someone else — that would be amazing. I do know it’s already helping me.
