I am four. I begin my sprint and hear my slow, steady heartbeat. I daydream about all the comic books I was reading and how most of the heroes can fly. The song, I Believe I Can Fly, begins playing inside my tiny little head as I reach my take off point. I stop thinking, bend my legs, and jump. My liftoff starts excellent with me soaring high above all the other things in the room, but it quickly turns into failure as my leg over extends and clips the couch. I fall down to earth like a meteor and crash like one too.
   

“Wahhhhhhh!” I cry. My mom instantly appears by my side and helps me to a chair. She looks at my demented, distorted, and destroyed arm and tries not to puke. I bring myself to look at it and I see my arm contorted to the wrong direction. My mind wanders and begins pondering what could have possibly gone wrong. I jumped over that couch more than 100 times and never got hurt. She calls an ambulance but during the time in between it is just me and my mom. She tells me it will be okay and calms me down, right before the ambulance comes to pick me up.
   

I am five. Just months after my previous debacle I’m back on my feet. The window are glossed over with rain drops that have frozen over. The temperature in my house is a nice cozy serenity compared to the harsher, colder weather of the outside world. My energy is at an all time high because of the extra hours of sleep I got because school was canceled. Nothing. That’s all I can do. My mom confiscated my PSP and my Wii so gaming was out of the question. I go over all of the things that I usually do and the only idea I have is to day dream. I go around my entire house daydreaming until I find myself in the guest room. As soon as I get there I see the wobbly door that I’m not allowed to touch, but my mom isn’t home so she can’t stop me. I run to the door and start opening and closing it. On the third or fourth close my thumb gets in the way and is crushed.   
   

“Wahhhhhhh!” I shriek. My nanny quickly runs into the room and takes my finger out from the door. I look at my finger and see that my nail is non existent anymore and I’m gushing blood. My blood is coming out in huge amounts and all I can do is cry while my nanny starts to call my mom to shriek at her that I’m hurt. I look back at the door itself and see a huge splatter of red all over the sides of the door. It looks like a recent crime scene. As soon as I see it my brain just stops all functions and I pass out. I wake up back in my bed, tucked in and clean. It looks and feels like all of it was a dream but when I pull my thumb up, I see a miniature mummy. It’s completely covered in gauze that prevents bleeding while my thumb regrows its nail. While I’m examining my nail I glance over and see a card on the side of my bed. I open it to find a little get better christmas card from my constantly caring mom. I see it and all of the energy in my system is released and I fall into a deep slumber.
      

I am six. I can not possibly get any more hurt, I think to myself. After the breaking of my arm and the crushing off my nail there weren’t many exterior body parts left to hurt.The big, brown dusty gym surrounds me. I gaze around it, seeing the dust slowly fall like snow. The screech of a whistle refocuses me and that is when the game begins. The ball is passed back and forth until someone boots it into the corner of the gym. I sprint there without a care in the world. An errant foot is suddenly outstretched in front of me. I tumble through the air, limbs flailing, thoughts scattered, safety thrown out the metaphorical window. The fall feels like an eternity as I look around to see who tripped me but all I see are little dust particles, passing by me. My skull is the first to collide with the cold, hard texture of the floor.

It smacks the floor with a crack and as soon as it does, everyone goes silent, or maybe my head stops working because there is a crack inside my head, gushing blood all over the dusty floors as well as my skull. It feels like years before paramedics arrive on the scene and start patching my head. I feel like a ghost, watching myself get carried away into the ambulance. The car ride is a blur. I wake up looking into my mother’s caring and concerned eyes. I see the pain in them but also relief. I don’t remember a single thing after that, except for the fact that my mom loves me more than anything this world can offer.
      

I am fourteen. I haven’t been hurt in eight years. All of my previous injuries have become distant memories from a distant time. The only long lasting memory from them is my mother’s presence. Ever since those injuries, I’ll know that, through thick and thin, my mom will always be in my corner. Although those injuries were painful for both of us, it has brought us much closer to each other. It has also shown me that through everything, my mom will always be there for me.