Keeping Them Close
1420 Words
There was a time in Jessica’s life where she pushed everyone away without even realizing she was doing it.
Addiction does that.
Pain does that.
Self-destruction convinces people they’re alone even while surrounded by love.
Back then, Jessica spent years running from herself, and in the process, she unknowingly ran from the people who loved her most too.
Her parents worried while she disappeared emotionally.
Her family tried reaching her while substances slowly pulled her further into darkness.
Even when people stood beside her physically, Jessica often felt unreachable.
Like she existed behind glass no one could break through.
And honestly?
There were years she truly believed she wouldn’t live long enough to repair any of it anyway.
Now things were different.
Completely different.
Because nearly dying changes people.
Not just emotionally.
Spiritually.
It changes what matters.
Five years earlier, after the accident destroyed her body and nearly ended her life, doctors gave her parents devastating expectations.
Two years.
That’s what they were told.
Two years.
Jessica still remembered hearing about that afterward and feeling stunned.
Two years?
That was supposed to be the timeline left for her life?
Two birthdays with Elijah maybe.
Two Christmases.
Two summers.
Two years to say goodbye to everyone she loved.
The thought still shook her deeply even now.
Because at the time, her parents had to carry that fear quietly while helping her survive recovery.
Imagine hearing your daughter may only have two years left after already almost losing her repeatedly through addiction and trauma.
No parent deserves that kind of pain.
But Jessica was stubborn.
Unbelievably stubborn.
And somehow, five years later, she was still here.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.
Still loving.
Still surviving.
Still rolling through the house in her wheelchair with Kitty curled on her lap sometimes while Elijah laughed nearby.
Five years.
Not two.
Five.
And Jessica held onto those years like treasure.
Because every additional year felt earned now.
Not guaranteed.
Earned.
The accident changed how she loved people.
Before, she loved recklessly sometimes.
Carelessly.
Assuming there would always be more time later.
More chances later.
More apologies later.
More memories later.
But almost dying taught her something terrifying:
Later is not promised.
At all.
Life can disappear violently fast.
One phone call.
One accident.
One overdose.
One medical emergency.
Everything changes.
And after surviving so many close calls, Jessica stopped treating the people she loved like permanent fixtures she could emotionally neglect while distracted by chaos.
Now she held them close.
Very close.
Especially Elijah.
Elijah became the center of everything.
Not in an unhealthy way.
In a deeply grateful way.
Jessica often looked at him and thought:
“I almost missed this.”
Almost missed hearing his laugh grow older.
Almost missed bedtime stories.
Almost missed school conversations.
Almost missed watching him mature.
Almost missed simply existing beside him.
That realization overwhelmed her sometimes.
Because addiction nearly killed her before he was even born.
Then the accident nearly stole her afterward.
Then hospitals kept threatening her life repeatedly after that.
And somehow, through all of it, she still got more time with him.
More mornings.
More memories.
More love.
Jessica never took that lightly.
Never.
One thing she noticed after surviving so much was how differently she experienced ordinary family moments.
Family dinners felt emotional now.
Movie nights mattered now.
Conversations mattered now.
Sitting quietly in the living room while Elijah played nearby and her parents talked in the kitchen sometimes hit her so deeply she nearly cried for no obvious reason.
Because peace once felt impossible in her life.
Now peace felt sacred.
The younger version of Jessica chased adrenaline, danger, substances, chaos.
Current Jessica treasured calm more than anything.
Because calm meant everyone was alive.
Everyone was home.
Everyone was okay for one more night.
Jessica became deeply protective of her family relationships too.
She no longer wanted distance emotionally.
Not after nearly losing everything.
She called people more.
Checked in more.
Expressed love more openly.
Spent more time simply being present.
Years ago she numbed herself emotionally because pain scared her.
Now she understood connection mattered more than avoiding vulnerability ever did.
Love requires vulnerability.
And Jessica finally stopped running from that.
Her parents especially became incredibly important to her after the accident.
Not because they suddenly changed into different people.
Because Jessica finally fully understood their love.
She saw the exhaustion they carried during hospital stays.
The fear in their eyes during emergencies.
The relief every time she came home alive again.
Her parents had already almost lost their daughter through addiction years earlier.
Then the crash nearly took her again.
Then repeated health scares afterward kept reopening old wounds.
Yet somehow they continued showing up with unconditional love through all of it.
Jessica cherished that deeply now.
Because not everyone gets unconditional love after making mistakes.
She knew that.
The same applied to her brother and sister too.
Family became less about obligation and more about gratitude.
Jessica no longer saw family as people simply connected by blood.
She saw them as people who stayed.
People who carried fear beside her.
People who loved her through ugly years.
People who kept answering hospital calls.
People who never fully gave up hope even when life became terrifying.
That kind of loyalty changes you permanently.
There were nights Jessica sat awake thinking about all the versions of herself that almost died before reaching this chapter of life.
The addicted teenager.
The overdosed young woman.
The body broken after the crash.
The patient doctors expected might not survive long-term.
Any one of those versions could have become the ending of her story.
But somehow they didn’t.
And because they didn’t, she now had this life.
This imperfect, difficult, beautiful life filled with family love she once overlooked completely.
That realization humbled her beyond words.
Elijah especially taught her the meaning of unconditional love.
Children love so purely.
So honestly.
He never cared about wheelchairs.
Never cared that her voice changed.
Never cared about scars or limitations.
He just loved his mom.
Completely.
And Jessica protected that love fiercely because she knew how rare genuine love truly was in this world.
There’s something sacred about a child hugging you after a hospital stay like none of the scary things matter as long as you’re home again.
Jessica carried those moments deep inside herself.
They became fuel during hard days.
Fuel during hospital admissions.
Fuel during pain flare-ups.
Fuel during fear.
Because love gave survival purpose now.
Kitty became part of that emotional closeness too.
That tiny cat remained beside her through nearly every chapter after the accident.
And strangely enough, the small routines involving Kitty made life feel stable.
Kitty sleeping beside her.
Elijah petting her.
Family laughing about how spoiled she was.
Tiny moments.
But tiny moments build entire lives.
Jessica understood that now.
Five years after doctors predicted only two years left, Jessica found herself thinking differently about survival.
At first survival meant simply staying alive.
Now survival meant staying emotionally connected too.
Not isolating.
Not pushing people away.
Not wasting time pretending love doesn’t matter.
Because love absolutely mattered.
In fact, Jessica believed love was probably the reason she was still here at all.
Love from Elijah.
Love from her parents.
Love from her siblings.
Love from Kitty curled against her chest during lonely nights.
Love became medicine in ways hospitals never could fully provide.
One evening, while sitting quietly watching Elijah laugh about something completely random, Jessica suddenly became emotional.
Not because anything tragic happened.
Because something beautiful did.
She realized she was present.
Fully present.
No drugs numbing her mind.
No alcohol clouding reality.
No running.
No escaping.
Just here.
Alive.
Watching her son grow up.
Surrounded by family.
Five years after being told she might only have two left.
That moment felt enormous.
Because younger Jessica never imagined a future this peaceful could even exist for her.
She still fought hard to stay alive.
Every day.
Hospitals still scared her.
Medical complications still exhausted her.
Pain still existed.
Fear still visited sometimes.
But now she fought differently than before.
Not out of panic.
Out of love.
She wanted more years with her family.
More conversations.
More holidays.
More ordinary evenings at home.
More mornings hearing Elijah’s voice.
More time feeling the unconditional love surrounding her.
Because once upon a time, Jessica nearly lost the chance to experience all of this forever.
And now that she had it?
She refused to take a single second of it for granted anymore.
- Writer
