I remember being eight and walking to school with you. You were so happy when you learned you could come with me now. You held my hand and fussed if I let go. Sometimes, I’d take you to the park after school and push you in the swing. I’d watch you giggle and scream with delight before I’d take you out and chase you around the playground. Sometimes, you would trip over your feet, never see it coming. You’d hit the ground and it would take a second for you to realize what happened. When you did, you would cry and cry. I would run over to you and pick you up carrying you to a nearby bench. You’d be sobbing, more out of shock then pain. I’d make shushing noises in your ear and wrap my arms around you, trying to imitate my mother’s actions. I’d kiss your scuffed knees and tell you it was okay. Even though I knew, [i]this[/i]wasn't okay.