My first memory of my mother, Joyce, was when I was three years old. We were at the grocery store. I was walking in front of the shopping cart while pretending to put items in because I was being the mom in my fantasy. I heard my mother say, “Be careful Sharon. If you keep
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walking in front of the cart you’re going to get hurt.” I heard her but her warning didn’t resonate and I continued playing make believe. Soon after, the shopping cart hit me, hard. I looked down to see that both of my ankles were bleeding. I looked up at Joyce and she said,
