Member-only story
Everyday Was a Gift
She was Only Eight, and Dying
Sometimes Superheroes reside in the hearts of small children fighting big battles. Author Unknown By Me.
She was eight when I was sixteen. I babysat her when her Mother ran errands, but she was dying; she desperately needed a heart transplant. We occasionally took her out for Karaoke or some other small adventure when she was having a good day. She could belt out Whitney Houston like a pro. Yet there was always a shadow, a reminder of life’s fragility. Paramedics often visited her place, sometimes taking her away, but sometimes treating her in her room if the issue was minor. Nevertheless, nothing is really minor when you are eight years old and on the verge of death.
The little things I did to comfort her included giving her my childhood doll, playing music, including Whitney Houston and Reba, whom I had come to love. Reading to her and creating stories for her were two of my favorite things to do. I tried to distract her mind from the pain and reality by doing little things to bring her joy. It was a reality she was well aware of, but she wasn’t one for giving up; that little girl had more fight in her than most adults, and she taught me things no classroom could.
You never know how strong you are until strong is the only choice you have. Author Unknown by Me.
