I've always loved the rain, and how it felt on my skin. It was almost as if I was raised all around it because it was the first thing I awoke to in the morning: the smell of morning rain, the chill of it as it blew past my curtain and intruded my bedroom. The rain was inevitable, unfortunately it was just like pain.

I was always told that things happen to us for a reason. Maybe it's to make us stronger, or maybe it's because we deserve it. Either way, there is no denying fate as it stares you right in the face. I guess it's safe to say that I learned it the hard way.

I remember quite well that it was May 7th, maybe. Sometime after May 5th, it wasn't too long and it was during the year 2007. I was just in the 7th grade. I woke up to a sharp pain in my knee, a scream in my throat, and tears in my eyes. My mother had fallen on me early in the morning.

I remember it was dark, too dark for me to see save the clearly defined silhouette I saw hunched beside my feet. I listened to my moms cries as they matched mine until my own voice quieted itself to hear her wallow in her sadness. Her words cried out, "Wait, wait, wait," as if she was having a clear conversation with me. It was the last word she said last night after my family had frustrated her. I heard her repeated words over and over in my head, yet I felt my heart say, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." I felt her words deep inside my heart. It was one of those moments where you just believe that it's true without even seeing it.

My sister walked down the hallway, and switched on the light. This was one of the first nights my dogs didn't bark at the loud noises, or even at the fact that my sister just blinded their tiny eyes for a split second. My mom was helped to the bathroom, and I fell back asleep. My dreams were darkened, but left me to forget about what had occured until I woke up for school the next morning.

My mom needed help walking to the living room, and my sister was already leaving for school. My brother and I was left to care for my mom. She didn't talk much, unless she was mumbling that same word, but I sure knew what she needed. I needed to help put on her shoes, and at some point help her brush her hair. Suddenly, we heard someone walking up our stairs. Looking out the window, we saw that it was my moms close friend. Elderly in his age, he was fit to do anything he set his mind to. We opened the door immediately.

"Hey sista," he greeted. Speaking pidgen was something they did on a regular basis, and it was never strange to me.

"Wait," she mumbled, and tried to smile. Her smile was broken, one side of her lips not quite reaching the corner of her mouth.

"Sista, I'm gonna take you to the hospital." My mom groaned in disagreement. It was true, my mom hated the hospital. She felt as if she could be her own certified doctor, and in ways she was. "C'mon sista." We then helped my mom to her feet and walked her out the door. I walked with them down the stairs, and to the car. Then, my moms friend looked over at me. "Stay by the phone, I'll be calling and coming by to check up on you and your brother." I nodded as an uneasy feeling scratched deep into my gut.

"Bye." My words were responded with the closing of his door. I watched as the car reversed out of the driveway, and out of my view. I began to walk back in the house when I realized that I wasn't going to school. I remember I looked at my brother when I got in the house. His eyes were filled with sadness and confusion, but pure joy of getting to skip school. I knew he wanted some answers because I wanted some too. My mother could barely walk, and her smile was left deformed in my memory. We deserved answers. When we got hungry, I made breakfast. Then, something just hit me. Answers come with time, so we'd have to follow my mothers only advice. We have to wait.