Epilogue: Mending Point
You know how there comes a time in life when things are simply too much for one person to handle, when the burden that has amassed on your shoulders in one pound too heavy, when your breathing comes faster in gasps and gulps, until you finally collapse under the pressure, watching all that you have strived for slip through your fingers and break into a million tiny slivers? And then you come scrambling up from the ground, desperately seaching for what you know, deep down, is never to be found? You know how you try to pieve the shattered, jagged pieces of life back together, but only get cut on the glass? And the more you try, the more you hope, the more difficult it becomes?
Yeah, well when I told you that before I left out a tiny detail. You're not always alone. You're not always the only one struggling, the only one who cares. Sometimes you have someone looking out for you, whether you're oblivious to them or not. Someone to catch you when you fall, someone that doesn't pile more weight on your shoulders, but piles some on their own. Someone that helps you pick everything back up when it breaks. And maybe it's not as perfect as it was before. But it's something. And when suddenly you have something, a little something coming from nothing, that's how you know you've reached your mending point.
As I look up at the tall brick building in front of me, I realize that Harmony was right, that day on the hospital roof a week ago. It will be okay. It won't be easy, but no one said it would be. I take a deep breath, and wheel myself up the ramp to the left, pausing in front of the large clear double doors. I swivel around to face my foster parents and Harmony, each one lugging a seperate suitcase of mine. They smile at me weakly, and I smile weakly back.
"I'll come visit every Sunday," Harmony promises, dropping my luggage and rushing to give me a hug. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'll miss you too," I whisper back. "Thank you."
"Anytime," she says, finally pulling away, her eyes glassy with moisture.
"See you in two days," I grin, grabing her hand and giving it a quick squeze.
"Of course," she answers, giving me a little wave goodbye.
My parents came next, and I gave them both hugs and smiles, promising that I would see them all in a few days. Then, finally feeling ready, I tell Harmony to open the doors, and wheel myself into the posh lobby of the Westwood Rehabilitation Center. It would be my home for the next few months, and when I did eventually leave, maybe I would leave laughing, relieved from the grief of Robin's death. Maybe I woud leave wth a bunch of new friends. Maybe I would even be walking. Who knows?
But whatever happens, I won't let myself get broken so easily ever again.