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“Before the illness, before the accident, I’d been my mom’s best friend and Daddy’s little girl. I missed them so much, held inside such mountains of grief, I constantly felt on the brink of choking. Only one thing lent me air: my rage. It reached through my rib cage and pierced little holes in my lungs. It allowed me to function. It kept me alive.” — Ali Hazelwood
Before the illness, before the accident, I’d been my mom’s best friend and Daddy’s little girl. I missed them so much, held inside such mountains of grief, I constantly felt on the brink of choking. Only one thing lent me air: my rage. It reached through my rib cage and pierced little holes in my lungs. It allowed me to function. It kept me alive.