The smell of the sterile room was starting to get to me; with every inhale I anticipated my next exhale. A film began to cover my pupils as I slouched in the plastic-covered chair starring at the fragile life that had machines breathing for her. Noises around me were muffled as my mind struggled to comprehend what to expect. For the fourth time in a year’s span I found myself sitting in a hospital room where I had spent my last three holidays and birthday. The tasteless food and four cable channels became a norm to my family for as long as I could remember, but this year was different. My grandmother was always sick but she’d bounce soon enough; yet the lifeless body that lay in front of me now wasn’t the same woman that served me applesauce in a wine glass before Sunday night football. I drowned in the memories of my childhood when I suddenly realized: sometimes, things change, and they are never the same again.
Change is a fear stricken concept for most, if not all, people and I am not the exception. I stand firm to the saying, “if it’s not broke don’t fix it”, yet I find my life going through more changes than most celebrities go through spouses. I think of things in a very realistic, present-term way; and most of my feelings towards life all trace back to change. My grandmother was one of the only people I could ever depend on; she was the epitome of everything wholesome and now that she was gone I didn’t see a point in looking for any good in the world, knowing it would be a lost cause anyways.
To the spectators I may seem like a pessimistic, cynical, brutally honest person; but frankly, I just don’t get excitement in living in your dreams. I’m a person of action, I’m far from lovable, and I know fairytale endings are left on the silver screen after the credits role. After my grandmother passed I quit trusting people and did my best not to get too close to anyone. I knew that–even if it wasn’t intentional–they wouldn’t be there for me forever. Once the school year came to a close and June rolled around I had to get away from these artificial smiles. My grandmother always said, “If you’re bored: go help someone.” So I took her advice and spent a week in Purdy, Missouri.
I went to a camp called Barnabas that is designed for children with disabilities to ensure they have a full summer-camp experience granted their situations. There I met Olga, an adopted Russian about my age whose motorized wheelchair she controlled with her only two fingers. Olga’s biological parent’s survived the Chernobyl disaster but as a result everything in them and on them was poisoned with radiation, thus was Olga. They gave her up for adoption and Olga spent her first years of life hungry and neglected in a metal crib. On the bottom bunk in her cabin she told me these stories through her teeth as she made bracelets for every camper, counselor, and cook there; with the embroidery string looped around her only big toe she held the loose string with her two fingers and pulled the knots tight with her teeth. Olga’s hard past carried her into a brighter day. She never forgot where she came from and counts her disabilities as a blessing because she’s able to share her light to other sorrowful souls. There I modified my view of happiness and was shown how important simplicity really is.
Olga reminded me there still is some good in the world. This day, 3 years later, I can still look down at the colored strings tied around my left wrist and be reminded of the 14-year-old smile that dragged me out of myself and instilled all those morals my grandmother talked about. That pessimistic, cynical, brutally honest person is still apart of me but now she’s not hopeless. Unlike the majority I no longer have to live in my dreams, but I know I have the power to live them out. Change chases after us and attacks without warning but we have the choice to run with it or let the it smack us in the face like a frigid wind on our already cold cheeks. We have the choice to sit in that numbness or become a child to our new situations and absorb all of its experiences. I am strong, I am wise, I am realistic. I think I’ve lost just enough hope to grow up and kept just enough of my innocence to remain a child for as long as I choose.
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