Lacey Mercer is 40 years old and lives in Buckeye, Arizona. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
My First Memory<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was my first memory. I\nam sure I\u2019ve had many more before it, but this is the first one I can recall.\nThis memory shines vividly in my mind and it was of him. I was about 4 or 5 years old in my Grandma\u2019s\nbackyard. I always went to stay with my grandma in the summer. She had an\namazing house \u2013 the kind you see when you\u2019re driving and turn to the person\nnext to you and say, \u201cWow, it would be nice to live there!\u201d It was white,\ntwo-stories, with a wrap-around porch, and balcony on the second floor. It was\na farmhouse and although looked picturesque from the road, up close, you could\nsee the small imperfections and wear left by many generations of use and love.\nMy family didn\u2019t have money, but they had that house. My grandmother used to\ntell me, \u201cSomeday this house will be yours, and you will raise your family\nhere.\u201d I would smile and run through the halls, into the backyard playing and\nlaughing like any child, not knowing how precious those moments really were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The backyard was big,\nwith flowers lining the house and a large oak tree on the side. In my memory\nwas swinging on a tire swing that hung from the oak tree, being pushed by Ethan\nMyers. He was one year older than I was and tall for his age. He lived a few\nhouses away and would walk the quarter mile down the dirt road almost every day\nto play. Ethan lived with his mother, father, and three much older brothers. By\nthe time Ethan was born, his parents were done raising children and let him\nroam free, which was fine with me. I loved playing with Ethan. He was kind and\npatient. I think his reason for coming over was as much to play, as it was to\nstay for supper. His family was poor, so going without a meal was a normal\noccurrence. My Grandmother didn\u2019t mind though. She was the kind of woman that\nwould feed the entire neighborhood if they came over. While Ethan pushed me on\nthe swing, I laughed and yelled, \u201cHigher, higher!\u201d On the back swing, the tire\nhit the trunk of the large oak tree. The jolt sent me flying. I landed on my\nshoulder and could feel the tears starting to come. Ethan was instantly by my\nside, \u201cBeth, are you okay, are you okay?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I winced in pain, \u201cMy\nshoulder.\u201d I reached up clutching it\ntightly as the tears began to leave my eyes. Ethan pushed my sleeve up to\nexamine the damage. There was no blood, but it was a little red. The next thing\nhe did is what is burned into my memory \u2013 He gently brought his face down,\nclosed his eyes, and softly kissed my shoulder. He pulled his head up and\nlooked at me wiping away one of my tears, \u201cIs that better?\u201d His words asked with the innocence only a\nchild could have. I nodded, and it was better. I should have known then to hold\non to him tightly, to not let him slip through my fingers as life can do to us\nwith so many people we hold dear. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Years later, here I\nstand; an old woman looking over over Ethan\u2019s grave not knowing him past my\nchildhood. My life was my own fault, a string of unfortunate decisions only\ncompounded by the one not to choose him. I stand here feeling sorry for myself,\nsorry for the life that could have been, and all the missed happiness that my\nmind wonders with. The scenarios built up in my head about the life I could\nhave had with him, but that was not the path I chose. In our youth, we do not\nrecognize how the smallest decision we make on a whim can shape the outcome of\nour short time. How some people who could bring us so much happiness are put in\nour path and we let them float away like bubbles in the air. So here I stand, remembering\nmy first memory, and at my age, I am sure very close to my last one. Now I\nrealize that true regret is not something you can fix; it is something you hold\nonto. It feels like a hollow place in your chest, constantly reminding you of\nthe wasted years and the foolish choices made in the arrogance of youth.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"