"Human Enough to Not Be a Hero" by Tammy P

     I got hurt beyond words — not once but twice.
A tornado of emotions threatened to shake my foundations. A flood of insecurities and doubts attempted to drown my resolve. A series of unfortunate events left me standing in the eye of the hurricane trying to gather the broken pieces and make sense of everything. It all began with that unforgettable day that creeps its way into my nightmares...
     This quiet day in late September 2018 proceeded like any other day. I trudged through my classes in a daze; the events of the first month of school still had me in subconscious shock. I felt physically weak, emotionally drained, and mentally depleted with the sole desire to go home. Then, again, this was how I felt every day for the first few weeks of the first semester. Knowing that I had a full agenda of homework and after school meetings on this average Wednesday, I decided to postpone everything and call it a day.
    I made the mile-long journey from my sixth period classroom in the back of the T-portables to my cerulean blue car named Blu in the student parking lot. Of course, after school traffic presented itself as a nuance as always which is part of the reason why I never leave school early. I quelled my rising tiredness and frustration with the thought of an after school nap as the long line of cars in front of me and behind me began unnecessarily honking at each other.
     After escaping the quagmire of parental and teenage drivers, I drove home. I expected to only be greeted by my younger sister since my parents would be busy at work on a typical Wednesday. As I pulled into the garage, my tiredness reached the point where I wanted to throw my backpack on the marble living room floor and take a nap right on our black leather couch since I did not have the energy to expend on the climb upstairs to my room. However, my plans fell apart when my mom greeted me in our living room.
    The air around me suddenly turned cold and I froze mid-step. My mom would never be home at 3:30 PM on a Wednesday; she would have been too busy managing her small business. I felt the ominous premonition of bad news as though it was palpable in the air. Negative thoughts ran through my mind at mach speed. Is something wrong? Did something happen? What happened? I voiced none of my impertinent questions since I knew my mom had something serious to tell me — something seriously bad. All of these thoughts, questions, and decisions happened instantaneously in my head as I placed my backpack on the living room floor before joining my mom by her side. She took my hands in her hands and asked, “How was your day at school?” Of course, she would ask that question. She asked that question every night at dinner but I knew that this time it was being used to stall the news. I shook my head and softly replied, “I know that you have something to say, Mom. Just give me the news.”
     That was it. That was all it took. My mom broke into tears. She gave the news that no one saw coming because it was kept a secret. A secret that was kept even from loved ones.
     A gasp escaped my lips as I blinked back tears as my mind raced to search for signs. I scoured in vain to retrieve any clues that could have foreshadowed this second loss in the span of a single month. This loss left a void in my extended family. Someone who I grew up with, someone who was a second mom to me, secretly battled cancer for months; we found out too late. My best friend lost her mom that day and I lost a second mother figure. I watched my best friend cry for the first time that day; I watched one of the strongest people I know show their weakness. My heart broke as she tried and failed to hold back her tears even as I tried and

failed to hold back my tears. I dealt with how the pain and loss affected me yet I also empathized with my best friend’s pain and loss. It felt like getting hurt not just once but twice.
    I avoided reliving that day; I avoided thinking about that event in general. Everything happened too fast, too suddenly, and too soon that I did not have time to process everything. I never felt more lost, more unsure, or more insecure. At the same time, so many of my friends were feeling the same way. We were all trying to support each other even as we were all fighting our own battles. Battles that we told no one else about because we thought we were being strong. However, we soon realized that it was all a facade. A cheap act that none of us were buying from each other because we knew each other too well. Through the stories and through the confessions, I became more comfortable with being vulnerable. I stopped pretending that everything was okay because sometimes it is not; that is part of being human. I did not expect what came and did not know what was coming next but I knew that I would not be the only one feeling that way.
The most important people in my life showed me how to be strong even during our most vulnerable times by being honest and being open about our situations and our feelings. Sometimes, we do not always need a hero in our lives. Sometimes, we just need someone to help us feel human, to say that we can feel the way we feel without sugarcoating or diluting our feelings. For the longest time in my life, I felt so lost in a maze of confusion and pain. My remaining loved ones guided me out of that maze. I realized I was strong, strong enough to admit that I was hurting on the inside. I realized that I was human, human enough to not be a hero.