Her first breath of fresh air is on November 25th, 2002. Just days before the meal of turkey, cranberries, and bread rolls. The meal in which she and her mother were oblivious to at the time. But it didn't matter to them. Her father was there. Her siblings were there. And her grandparents were there. She was not alone. Nor did she ever plan on being.
She is me. And I am her. Whether I refer to her as she or I refer to her as I, she is me and I am her.
She is Ivy. But I call her myself.
YOU ARE READING
Still Breathing
Non-FictionWhether I refer to her as she or I refer to her as I, she is me and I am her. The 15-year-old girl who calls herself Neca. Neca, who has cancer. Neca, who has a drug addict brother. Neca, who has an alcoholic father. Neca, who has a pastor mother...
