I believe in second chances.
Several years ago I moved to Portland, Oregon to make it on my own. I arrived there in December and by February my life had become unrecognizable. I did not find a job or a place to live before I moved, and I ended up living in an apartment with some friends from high school.
After months of trying, I was unable to find a job, and I began to spend the little money I could get by collecting cans on partying instead of eating. My lifeyle had spiraled out of control and was diminishing my physical and mental health.
My parents had become increasing worried about me and called me on a regular basis to make sure I was alright. They had objected to me moving to Portland and my living conditions seemed to justify their protests, but I was headstrong in my defiance of their wisdom and I stayed despite their opposition.
I awoke on March twentieth to my Mother’s normal call, but instead of answering my hello all she could do was cry. My cousin had been killed in a car accident and she was calling to give me the bad news and get me on a plane to Michigan for his funeral. I did not know that when I hung up the phone and got out of bed that my life would be changed forever.
I flew to Michigan and attended my cousin’s funeral. I held his hand as he lay motionless in my grasp, but I could feel his presence as I looked upon his painted brow. The sorrow that I felt from the moment I heard that he passed away faded as I said my final farewell.
I boarded my plane and headed home after his funeral, but shortly after arriving I felt that my life was not what I wanted and it had to change. My cousin’s death had inspired me to live again and I moved back home to start over.
Today, I am married with two wonderful children and have started college, and each day I rejoice and mourn over the second chance that I was given.
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