Lesson Learned
Reagan Engleman ‘23
I know the wisdom that is woven into the wrinkles of grandma and grandpa. I learned that my mom won’t live forever, I learned that dad cries. I learned that brother needs a suit, and that sister needs a black dress. I learned how to clean torn knuckles and patch drywall. I learned how to how ignore the stench of bad news that floats up the stairs. I learned how to pretend I didn’t know what hospice and terminal meant. I learned that my nightlight couldn’t scare away this kind of monster. I learned how to read a hospital map. I learned how fast ambulances arrive. I learned how cancer kills. I learned how to lose my mom. But that is not what everyone sees. That was years ago, and many tears ago. Everyone sees me, not my sadness, not my past. I learned how to forget about the playground fights and big test tomorrow. I learned how to spend my time on what really matters. I learned how to cherish the little things. I learned how to thank everyone for everything; I learned how to tell people you loved them endlessly. I learned how to hold on tight while you can. I learned how to wipe my tears and get up from the bathroom floor. I learned to live everyday like it is not my last, but everyone else’s. I learned to enjoy the sunset, sunrise, daybreak, dawn, dusk, and every minute in between. I learned that people who drown in the dark breathe in the light like no one else.
24 | ESSE 2021
