Originally Posted by Gilda

2. The hospital called my parents. Grace called them. My brother called them. They didn't care, even that first day when my survival was far less than assured. They didn't call to find out how I was, and didn't take Grace's calls when she tried to update them. Sissy was the only one who didn't make an attempt.

I know I should just . . . let it go, write them out of my life the way they have me and Sissy. I know this. But I can't. I am the product of their love, the joining of their essense. What spirit I posess, much of what makes me the person I am today, for good or bad, comes from them. They gave me life and a home and love and support for all of my formative years, they, more than any other person, helped to mold me into the person I've become.

And it doesn't matter how long it's been, how distant we are in miles and years, I still love them and I still desperately crave their love, and it still kills me to know that if it had been a few minutes earlier or later and the man who saw me hadn't been there to call 911 on his cell phone or if any number of factors had been different and I had died, they wouldn't have been there at my funeral.

Sissy has let it go, she's made peace with it. I wish I could, but I can't, and I don't know why, except that I am who and what I am in large part because of them, and I can't reject them completely without rejecting that part of myself.

Gilda