Four years ago I was in a car accident with my parents. I was only twelve years old. My dad walked away with minimal damage to his ribs and a permanent scar above his lip. My mom wound up almost completely fine, aside from a mild concussion and some cuts. From what I was told, I was put in to a medically induced coma so doctors could operate on me and try to heal everything that was damaged. I suffered from internal bleeding in my left leg and hip, but they were able to fix that during my comatose state. I also have a few stitches in my head and side, but the real problem lies in my brain, where I now suffer from long term amnesia, and I don't remember a lot of my childhood.

I remember things like my parents and most of my family. As I met them after the accident, I began to to recall certain things about them that let me put the pieces together. And I remember other things, like in grade one, how I made my dad this tie for Father's Day and I decorated it with a bunch of music notes and dollar signs. He wore it every day for a month, I swear it. I remember my mom telling me about her trek to Africa and how the gorillas used to line up for her when she brought them grapes, and how there was one gorilla she named after me because it didn't like the green ones and was headstrong, and how she named another one after my best friend, Trish because it slept a lot and got in fights with the others.

I remember how in grade three I won a spelling bee at my school and the winning word was agoraphobic and how I got this sudden rush when everyone clapped for me. I remember my dad telling me that he was proud of me and that when we got to Mini's I could get the biggest ice cream they had. Then my mom playfully shoved him because the biggest ice cream size they had was this really tiny thing that maybe takes three bites to finish. In retrospect, I should have had known that, because it's called Mini's, but I was seven, sue me.

I remember that the day of the accident, my parents were telling me they were thinking about renewing their vows. Because they loved each other so much and wanted to be able to do that. I was really excited, super excited. And we were going out to dinner together to celebrate. We stayed longer than expected – appetizers, entrees, desserts, tea. It was nearly dark when we finally left. And not two blocks from our house, some idiot slams directly in to our car in a drunken stupor.

I remember that I couldn't breathe for quite some time, and then I was suddenly awake two weeks later. My parents were crying. But not together. They were scared, but they stayed on opposite sides of the ICU.

So I also remember recovering. And that for four solid months I couldn't do much on my own. My left side ached all the time, and for a one month out of the hospital, I was in a wheelchair. My mom cried a lot and I needed help in and out of the bathtub for a long time. I hated relying on anyone. Every day after school, Trish came over and told me about hot guys at school. Sometimes she acted weird, but I was usually too tired to ask.

Around six months after the accident, I was close to being fully recovered. Out of the wheelchair, bathing on my own, making my own eggs for breakfast. Smiling. Then my parents told me about their divorce. I guess it was too hard to maintain the idea of being in love when your daughter's life was being clung to by cords and oxygen masks and medicine. I guess you just stop giving it any thought. You stop feeling.

Flash forward one year, and my life wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I had this whole concept of how terribly sad I would be after my mother went back to Africa and neither she or my dad wore their wedding rings anymore. I guess after being in an accident like that I just assumed everything would suck.

It still did, but not nearly as much as it could have.

There are certain things I still don't remember, four years later. I don't remember how to play the piano anymore, but I'm trying. I don't remember how to divide fractions, though it's arguable I don't remember just because I hated math. I don't remember where I put my book before the accident and I haven't seen it since.

I miss remembering.