To remember I exist in this very moment by the grace of countless acts of kindness, tells me one thing.
To remember how my mother helped me up into her lap so I could watch her write a letter and ask what those squiggles were that she was making with her pen, tells me one thing.
To remember my father handing me the paintbrush he was using and saying, “You try,” tells me one thing.
To remember the neighbor woman rushing out of her house to hold a towel to my bleeding head after I fell from my bike, tells me one thing.
