tags: #acquiredamputation #trauma #grief #guilt #forgiveness #peace #selfworth #shame #loveyourself #loveyourbody #newadult #freedom #journey #change

word count: 997

• • • • • • •

A person misses something when they don't have it anymore.

I touch the pool's water. Warmth tingles my fingers. The liquid hovers over top of my skin, small creases, ovals within ovals that make a unique pattern.

Me.

I sigh.

The first week in May, this is the earliest I've swam in my Mom's outdoor pool. Mom turn the heater on full blast last night for this moment.

I grip on the silver railing, picking myself up from the hot pavement. A sharp sting zings up my abdomen, skin sore and flush with red.

"Laura," a warm hand presses against my back, "Let me help you-"

"I got this, Mom!"

She flinches. Her hand rests between my shoulder blades.

Shit.

I look down at the clear, blue water. Fingers curl around the handle. I use to be able to step into the water. My feet touch the plastic stairs with tree leaves, dust, and dead spiders and flies. I try to dodge the filth. Now.

I hoist myself up, wrapping my other arm around the secure handle.

"Ms. Hobbs. Let her try," a feminine voice says before us. Sophie, the occupational therapist and aquatic specialist, stands in her pink one piece bathing suit with navy shorts. I stare at her legs. The calf muscles.

I use to wear heels to show off my muscular calf. The shoes that squish my poor pinky toe into its fabric. The scarlet irritation.

I miss the pain.

I plop into the liquid. The two temperatures fight: my body and the pool. Coolness comes up to thigh, I have my upper leg. My knees barely survive.

Unlike Matthew.

I knew his first name.

Didn't know his last name.

I finished my senior year of fall semester around December, one more semester and then I'll graduate with Bachelor's in Psychology. My end of semester routine celebration included girl's night out attending 90s Karaoke and then we'd dash over to Snooze You Loose, the cookie bar with delicious chocolate martinis. Along with the best damn scotch in the world. Plus. The hot men.

First thing he said to me, "I've never seen a person down scotch like you."

"Want to see me do it again?"

He smiled. His two front teeth leaned together, both at an angle. His scruffy beard was too thin. Yet. His eyes. Similar to chocolate martinis. I could have swum in them.

He held out his hand.

I took it.

I chose to ride his bike. He gave me his sunshine yellow helmet. He wore nothing. The small car didn't see us. Matthew did. He swerved too quickly, leaning the motorcycle to the left. The motion continued. I let out a scream. In his ear. We stopped once we hit something. The concrete wall. There went my right leg.

The car left the scene with no scratch on them.

I attended his funeral after my surgery.

His parents hugged a stranger. Thanking me for showing up. I wanted them to yell, shout to leave the premise, and insult me. They clung on my shoulders. Their tears soaked my cotton jacket.

I traded in my legs for a wheel chair. Matthew traded one night for death.

January. I didn't speak. I glanced down to see where my feet should be.

February. I screamed. Nightmares of the incident, skin skidded on concrete, long dull car horn, sting and warm blood on the ground.

March. I pushed my hospital tray aside. I thought, why me? Why was I alive and he was dead?

April. I tried to get up without help. I could walk. I didn't need help, until I fell on my ass.

May. I'm here swimming in a pool. I need this. Sophie says the aquatic therapy will reduce pain in my muscles, joints, inflammation, and less stress on back.

I hope she's right.

"One more step, Laura."

Sophie encourages me.

Somehow, she is in front of me in the pool. She stands on her knees, the shallow area.

I don't have a step. This part. I'll be in the water. I use to be able to plunge in, knowing the weight underneath my feet. What the sensation will be, the sapphire oval design pool liner being slippery. Now. There will be a gap. A space.

I bit my lip.

Eyes start to sting. I keep looking at Sophie.

I can't look at Mom.

I can't.

I won't.

She doesn't deserve me yelling at her.

She doesn't deserve picking me up like a toddler.

Making sure, I don't fall.

Helping me take a shower, putting on my prosthetic legs, and guiding me as I try to relearn balance.

I'll learn.

She'll learn to trust me again.

I need to learn to trust myself.

She just can't see me cry.

I take the leap.

My arms paddle to keep afloat. Shoulder blades and neck muscles keep my head above water as I make my way over to Sophie.

"Slow down. Take small strides."

I try kicking. My thighs and upper leg help in short strides.

I'm in front of her.

"Stand on your feet."

"I have no-"

"Stand."

I blink. I tilt my head up.

I allow my feet to weigh down.

What if I can't touch the shallow floor? What if I'll breath in the water? -

I feel something.

Tough. Slippery. Concrete.

I can touch the four-foot ground.

"Blow air out your nose."

I do so.

"Yes," Sophie grins. Her smile reaches her emerald eyes. "I see your tension lessening."

"You're doing it, Laura!" Mom yells. I hear clapping.

I breathe.

In.

Out.

I lean backwards. Floating. My brunette hair streams behind me like seaweed in an ocean. Half my ears fill with water. The soft heartbeats sooth a welcoming melody.

Yes.

Quiet.

The water underneath separates me from the outside world. My muscles loosen on my lower back, spine, and neck. I feel something different since the five months.

"Thank you," I whisper, before diving into the silent water.

• • • • • • •

This idea came to me while I was floating in the pool. I hope I did the story justice, Laura's story. We got to know this character quickly, journey with her in a short time.

This challenged me as a writer to write an in-depth, trauma story in only 1,000 words. It provides grief, shame, and guilt: in the end, forgiveness wins! Self forgiveness.

Although the doubts came back to Laura, still questions why she survives; she keeps moving forward. Each day she finds peace.

Keep moving forward. This made me tear up a bit.

Thank you reading this.  <3

Love yourself! Your body. Soul. Mind.

Thank you.

*hugs*

Love,

~ Fallon Elizabeth ~

xoxo