I was only eight years old, lying in shattered glass, trapped alone in the car that, just a few minutes ago, had been on its way to getting water ice. It was meant to be such a happy day. It was the very first day that I had met (who is now) my step father and his entire family, having a barbecue in the backyard snacking on chips and lemonade as a means to cool down on the hot summer day. Attached at the hip to my mother, being in such a new environment that I’ve since come to know very well, we decided that the lemonade was not cold enough nor was it sweet enough to satisfy an eight-year old’s craving for a tooth-rotting amount of sugar.

Water ice, I thought to myself. It was the only sensible solution.

So, off we went, watching the kids run around merrily through sprinklers behind us, with foam Nerf bullets flying every which way, aimed from one boy to another.

I hopped in the backseat with my feet swinging beneath my legs, still not quite long enough to reach the floor. I’m sure you could have seen the excitement in my expression and my body movement the entire way across the town to get the treat I had long awaited all day.

On a drive that seemed to be 30 minutes (really only five or so), hitting every single red light, only extending my anticipation, we laughed and listened to my favorite CD, which, at the time, was the High School Musical soundtrack.

Finally, we approached the traffic circle where from our side, the water ice was directly across from us, almost at arm's length.

In only the time it took for a woman to run a red light, our journey was cut short and the day was one to be remembered for what I’m sure will turn into a lifetime. I was only eight years old, lying in shattered glass, trapped alone in the car that just a few minutes ago, had been on its way to getting water ice.

I awoke in the arms of a stranger, only to see the white car behind us now bloodied, covered in bits of glass and aluminum. Catching a glance at the other car, with the front hood that looked as if it must’ve been made of crumpled paper. Dazed and in and out of consciousness, I awoke again on the hot pavement of the sidewalk with bits of gravel sticking to my body, soaked in sweat, catching glimpses of what could’ve been out of a movie.

From across the street, someone came over to offer me a cup of water, which I grabbed with shaking hands while someone pulled me up to a sitting position from behind. The lip of the cup came so close to my mouth, when someone from behind pulled it away from me so quickly that the agitation splashed the water from side to side, tracing the rim, almost over into my lap. Each event after the other became a series of letdowns and misfortunes.

My only reaction was a fit of tearless crying, asking, “where is my mom?” over and over again, even though I had been answered each and every time. After being laid out on a hard cold plastic stretcher that was so fluorescent orange, you could see it from a plane, and wrapped in a neck brace, I was reunited again with my mom in the ambulance on our way to the hospital.

The sight of her bloodied arms, torn up by the shattered glass and her hand reaching out to mine to squeeze it so tight that I could only imagine her pain, is singed into my memory for a lifetime.

We finally arrived at the hospital, and we were separated immediately. No one knew how she was, and I can only assume she knew as little about me as I did about her.

Days went by of beading bracelets, watching movies and hospital food, all in a hospital bed. Finally, I had had enough. The nurse came in (the poor woman, just doing her job) to take my blood for the seventy-eighth time that day, and I broke down and begged her not to, telling my dad in hysterics that I just wanted to go home, begging him to get me out of there.

No longer did I want to lay idle, doing absolutely nothing. I was bored, tired and so hungry. When I finally was sent home, my dad had the responsibility of driving me home. The feeling of being back in a car again was absolutely horrifying. Each tap of the brake felt like I would be thrown from my seat, and each acceleration felt like a roller coaster.

Even so, I was excited to be home and have the chance to eat real food, in a real bed. These little things became so much more valuable, never again to be taken for granted.