Have you ever broken a bone?

This brings back a lovely if not slightly traumatic memory.

Four years old. An entire bag of M&Ms. The sugar high induced a feeling of power—no matter how high and aggressively I jumped on my grandmother’s bed, I would have never anticipated the ultimate, foreseeable end—falling off and falling on my collar bone.

It is lovely because this is one of my favorite memories with my grandmother. Losing her to dementia was a critical moment in my life, and was traumatic. But indeed, the only one who was traumatized by this fall was her. I wish I could have articulated to her that I’d had so much fun, so much damn fun, that it was worth it in the end.

I woke up sedated in a hospital with balloons, a cast, and no pain. And my poor parents and grandmother were being grilled by the doctors. They wanted to frame them for child abuse, going on no evidence at all.

I overturned that. My honest little self, four years old and wide-eyed, told them of my various escapades with M&Ms and soaring flight.

Nothing was truly broken in me. But there was something truly broken in those doctors.

Thank you, Grammy, for teaching me right from wrong. Thank you for teaching me the signs of a pure heart. And thank you, many times over, for letting me break my collar bone, and sail straight up to Olympus. Your love continues on, and you are forever my most sought guide.