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~ Prologue ~ ~ Chapter One ~ ~ E-mail ~ ~ Home ~ |
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~ prologue ~ �Life�s a lot like Play-Do. It�s not the best building material. Sometimes it chips and crumbles, and sometimes it�s too soft, but you mold it into the best you can, making adjustments and making what you can with what you�ve got.� My mother said that more times than I can remember. And it�s true. Often, she said that she, too, was like Play-Do. She said that she was soft and could crumble and chip. That�s what she said. Truly, though, she was the strongest person I ever met. She was like Play-Do: durable, bendable, malleable, flexible, and no matter what other colors you mixed her with, she went on standing up strong. Sometimes you have to just take what you�re given and live. There are no do-overs, no restarts. You�ve got one chance, she said, to live. Courage, she said, wasn�t not being afraid, but rather facing the things that did frighten you. And when you overcame those obstacles, and sometimes when you didn�t; that was when you were brave. Often, I wished I were more like her. Life, she also said, wasn�t being right; it was learning from mistakes and amending the best you can. It was ignoring those scrapes on your palms and picking yourself up from the dirt again and again when you�re absolutely sure you can�t take another step. And there�s a reason you pick yourself up, she said. You do it for just one. It�s love. This is her story. Or rather, our story. |
unless otherwise stated. |
