April 18, 2019 1 min read


I loved my Huffy Santa Fe ten-speed.

My bike was everything.

I could go places.

I was going to play tennis with a friend.

Sports was everything.

I was going fast.

Speed was everything.


The impact was everything.


Blackness was everything.

“Puncture wound right femur!”

“Cut the sweatpants!"

"Severe facial lacerations.”

"Head trauma!"

"He's losing consciousn..."

Emergency surgery was everything.

I was thirteen years old.

My dad said, “You stopped breathing that first night in the ICU.”

They brought me back.

My second chance was everything.

I asked my dad, “Dad, will I be the same?”

Uncertainty was everything.

I was afraid.

I was loved.

Love permeated my life.

Love was everything.

A lot of people came to the hospital.

Supported me.

Helped me learn to talk again.

Walk again.

Support was everything.

I was going to die on that street.

I'm alive 35 years later.

I wonder why.

Why is everything.

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