In 2005, a few days after turning 26 years old, I had one of those seemingly cliched days that I had only heard about but not yet experienced (and honestly hoped not to since they sounded a little too dramatic for my taste). I had a day that changed my life forever.
It was early July and I was out in the backyard with my then 5-year old stepson Jaden and his 3-year old friend Cadence. I was Cadence’s nanny at the time but due to the fact that my car had been set on a fire in a random act of arson (among a string of others that summer) the day before I had no way to get to the family’s house for work and so he was dropped off at our house for the day. It was a warm summer day and the boys were playing. We were in the midst of continuing the renovation work on our house and a brand new front door was propped up against a table in the garage waiting as its first coat of fresh paint dried. The side door to the garage was open and one of our two cats wandered in and then a large crashing noise soon proceeded, followed by the cat bolting like the wind. Hoping the door’s windows weren’t broken I rushed into the garage with bare feet (which is never a good idea, at least in our garage). As I was hoisting the door up and attempting to situate it more sturdily I accidentally dislodged a piece of MDF that was hanging at about eye level. The heavy wooden board fell right onto my bare left foot.