That's when I realized.

When I ran through the front door, and saw her lying facedown on the floor. When I saw the cup falling from her limp hand, dark liquid spilling out-staining the white carpet. When I noticed the little blue pills sprawled across the countertop. When I yelled out her name, and heard no reply. When I said to myself, “Oh, my God…she’s dead.” That’s when I realized.

When the EMTs and police officers shoved past me, pushing me aside. When I collapsed over the porch railing sobbing from a deep place within me that I hadn't before known existed. When she was loaded onto the ambulance and raced to the hospital-lights flashing, sirens blaring. That’s when I realized.

I realized that day that there is more to life than parties and music. There is more to life than drinking and drugs. There’s more to life than the life that we’d been living.

I realized that day that people hurt and people cry, but sometimes it’s silent. They sing and they laugh, but sometimes it’s a mask. I realized that day that I should have known, that I should have seen, that I should have listened.

When I entered the hospital room, cold and numb. When I saw her sunken face, pale white as the sheets on the bed she laid. When I heard her frail voice say, “Hello.” That’s when I realized.

I realized that day that there is hope-there’s always hope. She lived. She was alive. I realized that day that life is miracle, that life is a gift. That’s when I realized.

This is a work in progress.