Suffering
Jan 18, 2024
When I was 5 years old my mom was driving me to school on probably a Monday morning in her gold dodge minivan. I was wearing a colorful striped sweater and pink pants– a new outfit she’d gotten for me that weekend from JCPenney. We got a green light to cross 95th Street on Lamar Avenue and, about three-quarters of the way to the other side, were struck by what I understood to be a cargo van. I learned later that the cargo van was actually a semi-truck.