And that's how I ended up here.
I'm not exactly sure how I managed to survive my fall but I have. I woke in the hospital, with my Mom tightly holding my hand. Realizing what had happened, a few tears slipped from my eyes and I used all the energy within my body to withdraw my hand from my Mom's.
That's what she cried.
My friends came to visit me, not saying much except that they loved me. I refused to speak, not only because I have nothing to say to them but because I feel like my mind is blank.
There is nothing left to say.
The scars on my wrist will never fully heal, though I feel I might someday. I don't know why I feel it now, sitting on the ledge of my hospital window, but I do. I feel.....hope.
I don't care why I feel it and I don't care to figure out why. I only cling to it and hope that it doesn't forsake me. I continue to feel this way, and by the time spring has begun to appear I am better.
Not perfect, but better.
And I'm okay with that, because if it can go from horrible to better, it can go from better to great. There is hope.
I was still wearing my sweater when I was pulled from the water, and it is returned to me when I leave the hospital. I look at the hole and now wonder what I could now do with it, not that everything is said and done.
So I take it home and pull out my sewing kit. I cut a piece of white fabric, like the snow that I walked on that night and begin to patch it. After I am finished, I hold it up and examine my work.
It's not perfect, but better.
And I'm okay with that.