They Fade Over Time

When I was 13 years old, I was helping family move and was carrying a bunch of curtain rods downstairs to the moving van. While rounding a corner, one got caught on the handrail and I walked into it, punctured my left forearm and nicked an artery. It hurt and then thick, dark blood slowly squirted out.

My mother saw it, freaked out, grabbed a pillow case, and tied a knot on my arm *hard*. We rushed to the hospital and I don't think she stopped at one red light. It was so tight I just wanted to loosen it so it wouldn't hurt. She slapped my hand away because it might be dangerous. 

On google maps, I can see the 3 major intersections we made it through and the now-closed hospital she made it to in record time. The doctors said she did the right thing, tying me off and slapping my hand away. Apparently you can lose *a lot* of blood through an nicked artery. Squirting is bad. A minor surgery and a lot of stitches later I still have the scar on my arm and the story to tell, but now that's shortened down to:

"I was helping someone move as a kid and a curtain rod went through my arm. There was a lot of blood and I got some neat stitches. I got to see them fix it up"

I know it hurt when it happened. I know it was bloody. The thing is, the details of that day are pieced together by what others tell me. It feels like it happened to someone else. The scar is the only thing that brings me close to remembering it even happened to me.

It reminds me that I'm just a person who can't control the world better than the rest of you. And it's *frustrating,* right? So stop trying! If God can't control people or situations what makes me think I can? I'm travelling through my life and everyone else with theirs and that's okay because that's what people do. I've always looked forward, because I don't want to miss the future because I was looking over my shoulder at the past.

The next ones will be more lively and less shoe-gazing