Losing my vision opened my eyes to gratitude…

My earliest memory is of me with a purple tricycle in my grandma Remell’s backyard, I’m wearing a white onesie with a matching hat, or maybe it was light lavender. I can feel the handlebars in my grip, and I can recall feeling unsteady trying to fit my chubby butt on the wide seat. There’s a man with me, one of my mother’s “special” friends. He’s smiling at me, but I don’t feel anything for him other than to acknowledge his presence. The sun is shining in a clear blue sky; at least I’m relatively sure it’s clear. Honestly, the memory and details feel clear, but the image in my mind is fuzzy.

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