Friday, April 15, 2011

The Smell Of Unscented Hand Soap

When I was 8 years old, my best friend got a headache. We were playing at my house and she had to lay on the couch with a wet rag to wait until her mom could pick her up.

6 hours later I was visiting her in the hospital after she had suffered a stroke leaving the left side of her body immobile. I remember seeing her family very concerned. I remember the hospital room was bigger than in the movies. Bigger than the room I visited my mother in 2 years prior when Nikka was born. I remember everyone sent flowers and balloons and the room was pugent. The scents didn't match and it bothered me.

She lay there so helpless. I felt so helpless. I just sat and watched her. She was a completely different person. To explain a stroke my parents used the example of my Nana, who suffered the same fatality. I couldn't associate my best friend with my Nana. So she will become Cranky and fragile? 8 years old. I couldn't wrap my small mind around sickness, death, mortality. So young and niave. Tragedy is so abnormal to me. Something that effects other people. Something I shouldn't have to spend time with.

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