Soccer. In other words, my life. Nothing, not even big, scary roller coasters or haunted houses, can beat the thrill of running past every player on the field, dribbling that black and white ball closer to the goal.
But that's never going to happen ever again. All of that came to quick, sudden stop last year. All I remember is rushing to the hospital, my older sister crying the whole way. That was the day I lost my mother. Along with that, I lost my life. Soccer. I hate drunk drivers.
My dad says that my legs are 'paralyzed for life'. But I know that's not true. Even back in Kindergarten they taught us to "Never give up" and "Believe". I've always thought those two things were useless. Until now.
My sister is having the hardest time dealing with the loss of Mother. So was I, at first. I still miss her terribly. Nothing can describe the anguish, the distress I felt for this past year.
But I learned to believe. And now I am not going to give up. Just as I overcame missing Mother, and I'm not saying that I don't miss her at all - Not a day goes by where I don't think of her and cry for her - I am going to schedule appointments with trainers, to build my leg muscles up again.
Then, I can start a new life by returning to my old life. Soccer. My life.