I walked out of the hospital,

my mother by my side.

Although I didn't fully comprehend,

I had a history with fear.

He was not my friend, nor my enemy.

He was a peer who followed me around from the beginning.

This was just an addition,

to the damage he had already caused.

I walked into my room and sat on the floor.

I saw mommy cry and I thought it was my fault.

At six years old you, you don't realize

that fear is universal.

And sometimes things you should fear are feared for you by those closest to you.

So I sat on the rug and thought for a bit,

I pulled out some paper and pencil in hand,

I wrote of my fears.

I walked into the hospital, a frown on my face.

When they brought out the needles, the tears joined in.

Why would they do this to me?

They are just causing me pain.

They sent me to another room where I would wait for results.

I asked for some paper and a pencil in hand,

I released this confusion that taunted my mind.

Every day was repatitve,

and never night similar.

I did not sleep alone,

for fear lay beside me.

I got to know the hospital inside and out.

Each time, the needle seemed longer and the hope seemed fainter.

I could see the yellow on my skin and although I didn't know what it meant,

I knew that it couldn't have been anything good.

Three weeks went by until I finally discovered,

after only 6 years, my liver was failing.

I prayed for a donor, though the doctors revealed the slim chances.

So I watched as my mother kneeled down to the floor.

I watched her look the sky and mutter to God.

I listened to hear whimpers in the middle of the night.

And a pencil in hand, I wrote to all of those I may have to leave behind.

Eight months passed by until I had come to a conclusion.

There are rare but precious moments when miracles overcome fear.

Luckily for me, this is just what had happened.

I began to feel better and gain back the weight.

And for the first time since the beginning, I got to witness my mother smile again.

As the years went by I could never forget,

the hope and release that had been allowed to me...

That had drowned out my fear and filled my desire,

to leave behind thoughts that would outlive my mind.

I lay in bed every night, a pencil in hand.

And writing, to me, defines perseverance.