Many people think they know my story. They know that my mom died. I have come to a point where I can tell people that she did, but they do not know my story. My scar.

I was eleven years old. My mom wasn’t feeling well so I cleaned the kitchen for her. I told her she could lay down, that I would handle it. When I was done I went out to the car to listen to music. I remember the weather that day. It was perfect so I left the car window down. I look over and see my mother banging on the kitchen window, the one I had a perfect view of from the car. My heart stops. Her face is turning blue. I open the car door and in a blur I’m in the kitchen. I came to the realization of what was happening. She was having an asthma attack. She hadn’t had one in so long that I was surprised I knew where the inhaler was, but I did. I found it and came to her and my heart sank once more. It was empty. I couldn’t do anything else and it broke my heart. I stayed with my mom as she went unconscious and it was the worst thing that I have ever had to watch in my life. I can still remember her last words, they ring in my ears to this day: ‘’ I’m so proud of you, Cara” I will never be able to forget that day, losing the most amazing person in my life, calling 911 at eleven years old to tell them my mother had died. That is my scar.