I was never really the type of kid to watch movies about superheroes nor was I the type to read a book about them. However, somehow while I was growing up my brain was implanted with the ideal image of heroes being superman, batman, or wonder woman. The entire idea of fighting crime, capturing the bad guy, and saving the day was always a typical reputation that heroes had. Every time a teacher assigned the “Who is your Hero?” essay in school, I always managed to somehow get out of doing it. I never had a hero. I did not have an individual in my life that had saved countless lives, flown to the other side of the city to save the lady whose purse had gotten stolen, picked up the avalanche of falling rocks with their super strength or ran and saved the person from who fell out of a window from a thirty five story building three miles away with their super speed. I never quite understood how any of the other kids in school had someone like that in their life. I always wondered what it would be like to have a hero.
I was an only child until the age of seven. On November 21st, 2004 I was blessed with a little brother named Zachary. I put emphasis on the word “blessed” because he almost did not make it. Growing up with Zachary brought much happiness into my life, I was given the responsibility of an older sister and I took that job very seriously. While helping my grandmother feed him, give him a bath, or change his diaper, I felt that every task that was done was a blessed opportunity. I loved seeing his joyous smile or hearing his most utterly adorable laugh when we would make the airplane noise with the deliverance of his food. Zachary made me mature much more quickly than the rest of my friends and looking back, I am very thankful for that.
November 2007, Zachary was two and a half years old. From what started off as a cold and an ear infection led to fluid in Zachary’s brain and many frightening seizures. He was unresponsive for many hours and if it was not for the incredible doctors and nurses who brought him back, I would have been an only child again. Zachary spent his 3rd birthday in the hospital, went through many rough surgeries, took on the pain of numerous needles, and through it all, he managed to keep a smile on his face. I remember wheeling him around in the hospital wagon, the way he laid there with pale skin, an I.V connected in his arm, and a large smile on his face. I remember visiting him every day after school; he was my number one priority. Whether it was a balloon, a happy meal from Mc Donald’s, or a bedtime story, Zachary always managed to smile at the little things.
April 2011, Zachary was sick for a week and his fever could not be broken. My mom decided to take him to the hospital, little did we know, he would be there for a while. I remember how quickly my heart was beating when I was told I could...