It was late one evening and I was just crawling into bed after a tiring day of sports. I was about 9 years old. It was a summer night, so, naturally, my windows were open. I could hear the chirping of what sounded like thousands of crickets. I felt a faint breeze as it rolled in through my window and my curtains slowly rose and fell. I was lying there on my bed; I was so exhausted that I felt as if I was melting into my bed. I stared out of my window to look at the sky. I could see many stars lighting up the sky like lights on a Christmas tree.

I had just started to doze off when suddenly I heard the phone ring. My mom was on call that night for the hospital. I hear her run out of her room to get the phone that was downstairs. Everything was going fine until I heard a huge, “thud!” I couldn’t hear anything after that. I shot out of my bed and found my unconscious mom on the stairs. I rushed over to her side. I remember being so scared and confused; after all, I was 9. At this point in my life, my parents were superheroes to me. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my mom was hurt, not only hurt but bad enough that we had to call for extra help.

My dad, brother and I waited for the paramedics; my mom was awake at this point but fading in and out. She came home the next morning and she was all right, just a little sore. I’m 18 years old now. On similar nights the fresh smell the wind brings through my window also brings me back to that night. It makes me realize how much I care about my parents, how much I rely on them.

I still look at my parents as superheroes, like it isn’t possible for them to get hurt or let anything affect them. Unfortunately, growing up means I understand reality better. But because of this, I am even more thankful for the people I love and appreciate them that much more.