I say a prayer. My fingers quickly find their place again and race to type my thoughts as they flood in. One sentence; two sentences; wait, no, not going to work. The passion of the idea seeps out of me as quickly as it arrived. Delete. "God, please help me out. What can I write about? What should I write about? What story do I have that is worth hearing?" I stare at the screen. I stare at the ceiling. I stare at the floor. I wonder how they get the wood planks to hold together so tightly like that. Focus, Kelsi, focus! I hear a noise and look up and see my mom walk in the kitchen. I was working on my homework over at my parents' that afternoon, awaiting the start of the Super Bowl.
             "Mom?" I ask. "What could I write my essay on? It's a narrative essay, so I need to tell a story." I look over at her and see her smile. Without missing a beat, she answers confidently, "Write about Kodi. Share how you now get to be there for him the way he was there for you." Perfect! How did I not think of that? "That's a great idea," I tell her. I pause and close my eyes, reflecting for a moment. I feel the sinking feeling in my gut again in light of the recent news; the same feeling I got when I heard the doctor's words just a few days before.
             My eyes remained closed in introspection, as I contemplated how this inspiring story would come to life on paper. Memories overtook my thoughts, as I cogitated how our lives had played out in indeterminable ways since the day we first met in Oregon. I had decided to move to the coast not long after graduating high school. It was time to experience the world and spread my wings, learn some of the hard lessons of life, and grow stronger on my own, away from the protected nest from which I came. It was a normal day at that - a typical Saturday afternoon full of errands and housecleaning. As I stepped out into the drizzly, sodden day...