Bitter, salty, dirt morsels found their way to my taste buds one tear at a time, working together to achieve the most unpleasant taste to ever be left in my mouth. A taste that will forever be burned in my memory. A taste that will always remind me of that night. The dirt created a dust storm by the skidding of the wheels on his 1967 caravan. My vision blurred, I could barely see through my tears which seemed to flow so easily and naturally. I soon felt the air beneath my feet. It felt as if gravity were lifting me and I was bolting...running. Running faster than I had ever even imagined possible, especially for me. My adrenaline started to fade as I felt my asthma kicking in. Before I knew it, my knees had made an unfortunate encounter with the rocky road beneath me. A bittersweet moment, my emotional and physical pain finally walked hand in hand. It’s more satisfying than you may think. But that pain didn’t endure for long. It was soon defeated by the intense sense of love and understanding my dad so willingly poured out as he lifted me up and carried me into the house. I remember thinking that would be the last I’d see of my brother. Thankfully, I was wrong.