I died and was reborn on June 18 in a plane crash in Ballycalla, less than eight kilometers from Shannon Airport, and I awoke to a new life a day later in the Mid-Western Regional Hospital in Ireland, not far away. When the nurse called me by name, I didn’t respond.
I’m a girl with a bad tattoo whose only memory is waking up in a hospital bed with a roomful of strangers. I try to cry for everything I’ve lost. Eighteen years. Vanished.
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