Routine
A disturbance in a Tuesday morning routine was a change of a lifetime: my brief car-ride nap was interrupted by a crash, then, the jarring of the ambulance. It was an unexpected awakening. Sixth grade social studies and spelling tests had to be put aside, as the rest of my day would be filled with the beeps of machines and chatter of scrub-clad trauma nurses. Suddenly, my mind was back in my body - and my first conscious words were my complaints of the uncomfortable neck brace, followed by my request to remove it. The nurses exchanged concerned looks. I would see those same eyes in my aunt when she visited me in the ICU, but the difference is that one look was worried for possible neck injury, and the latter was telling the news of my father’s death.
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The emotional neglect that I once suffered under became a catalyst for discovering my own independence. I was no longer a passive observer in my own life. I brushed passed my hesitance, and the tentative voice I repeatedly ignored soon took form in my eagerness to express my individuality. I spoke up, contributed ideas, and experimented in hobbies I never knew that I would enjoy. I discovered an interest in speech therapy and archery and rekindled my passion for volunteer work and art. What my freshman-sophomore self refused to do was essential to my own downfall: without finding myself in friends, family, and serving others I would not be the happier person I am now.
Recovery from a change in routine was not the easiest, but it was very possible. When my father was taken away from my family due to unfortunate circumstances, I was also given me the opportunity to mature earlier than others. The tragedy that afflicted my family and childhood could have been prevented, but the experiences and knowledge I gained was necessary for me to become adaptable, independent, and realizing the importance of having loving friends and