Stuffed Memories

October 12, 2010
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Sitting on my shelf, in the corner of my room,
The 4-inch lamb is perched, stuffed with memories.
My eyes tear the seams as recollections flood back.
My kindergarten year, condensed into this lamb.

I remember my friend, who scratched my hand,
And told me that I would become a werewolf.
Another friend, who kissed me on the cheek
With wet lips during recess one day at school.

I remember my teacher, who taught us all
Everything from tying our shoes to fractions.
And another teacher, who used to scare me,
And reminded me of death on sight.

I remember the sunny South Carolinian days,
And smelling the fresh, warm air at recess.
And also the day we had an inch of snow,
Where stores and schools alike closed in a panic.

I remember my asthma flaring up
And sitting in that hospital room,
Gasping for the air I desperately needed.
With an IV in my arm, I was alone.

Then I had a choice to make.

I could sit there in agony, dreading each moment,
Or I could find something small to enjoy,
Something small to clear these cloudy skies,
To hide the pain and to get me through it all.

My parents helped me find that “something small.”
They had bought a stuffed animal for me,
It was a white, soft lamb with rounded ears.
It helped me choose to be happy.

So when you are living in dark times,
You can choose to dread every moment,
Or make every moment better than the last.
The choice you make should be an easy one.

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