He was dead, and I lived a whole life in one year’s time. I carried a baby to full term. I got my GED. I started an internship at the job of my dreams, and I made it to my eighteenth birthday with a little less weight on my shoulders. I created a home in the home my brother and found family offered me. I took their hands, and I held on for dear life. Instead of sinking under at the thought of Deaton, I trained my brain to swim, to tread the endless waters of grief until I found a way to breathe easier. I untied the rope around my wrists and broke the surface of my woe whirlpool. I had a little
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