When I got my first injury, I remember sitting on the bottom step of the staircase and holding my finger tightly with a horrified expression on my tear-stained face, watching the tiniest droplet of blood appear. And my mom would walk up to me with a calm face, she would sit down beside me and pull out a small pink hello kitty band-aid. And that band-aid seemed to make everything better. My mom would wipe away my tears and just sit with me in silence, absentmindedly stroking my hair.
Now, 3 years later I'm in my parent's room with my family around me. My mother lays very still in the bed, her skin paper white but her smile is still present, though almost tired looking. Everyone is crying, but I'm not sure why. My little toddler feet carry me closer to the bedside and she turns her head towards me. My tiny hand opens to reveal a little pink hello kitty band-aid. I carefully place it on her arm and pat it down for good measure. Her eyes seem glossy and tears start to roll down her thin cheeks. Pulling myself up onto the bed, I use my little hands to dry her tears. I still remember thinking, as I sat there absentmindedly stroking her thin hair, if the band-aid would make everything better this time.
