“You never know how much something means to you until you lose it”. That’s what my mom used to say to me whenever I broke one of my many toys or video games, after disciplining me of course. When you live in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to break the toys you have. People break cars, sidewalks, windows, dreams, you name it. Hell, people even break themselves by using drugs! That’s just the way New Yorker’s have gotten used to living I guess. They don’t even see it as a big deal anymore. However if you’re like me, it’s always a big deal if you break something. Mostly because, if you’re a Hispanic child, you’ll get hit before you even realize you broke something. That’s just the way Hispanic parents teach kids a lesson. My mom was especially good at disciplining. I broke a glass cup one time, and she took off her sandals and hit me a couple times. From that point on I used plastic cups, and if there weren’t any plastic cups, I would have an iron grip on a glass one. Whenever I got disciplined, which usually happened during the night, I would always go into my room, look outside my window, and just stare at a streetlamp in front of my apartment building. The streetlamp itself was tall, like you would expect, and a bit rusty. The light bulb was a dark shade of orange which was a color I hated at the time. So in total, I sort of hated that streetlamp. I guess since I only stared at it when I was mad, my hatred for the streetlamp sort of evolved in a way. It was a shame really.
         I remember one Sunday, January 10, 2010 to be exact; it was an especially cold morning. I slept in the living room the night before because the coach had a mattress, and the living room had the biggest TV. I woke up from under my thick blanket, still excited about the latest WWE Friday Night Smackdown. The Royal Rumble was only a couple weeks away, so what wrestling fans wouldn’t be excited! As far as I can remember, it was a pretty normal morning. My mom, who looked a bit sluggish said to get dressed, since my older brother, Danny, was picking us up and taking my mom, little brother, and I to the hospital. That sort of killed my entire mood, since it had recently snowed outside and most New Yorker’s hated snow anyway. But besides that fact, we all got dressed and walked right out the door. Like I said, it was a pretty normal morning. Well that’s when the day became a bit colder.
Well, as the three of us were walking down the stairs, between the 4th and 3rd floor, my mom just sat down on the stairs out of nowhere. I was a pretty smart kid when I was 9, so I immediately sensed something was wrong. I went up to her and asked with a stutter what was wrong. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she reached into her purse, took out her phone, and said “Call 9-1-1”. My heart dropped down to my stomach when I heard those words. I looked to my little brother, who didn’t understand what was going on because of a mental disability, and then started to shake. I grabbed the phone out of her hand and called 9-1-1, however… at the time I was a stuttering idiot who couldn’t say a full sentence, and my anxiety at the time only made it worse. The first time I called, I was barely comprehensible and the operator hung up on me. I called over and over again, but the end result was the same. It took 10 minutes and tears rolling down my cheeks before I finally said “Help my mom’s having a heart attack send help quick!” Eventually after a couple minutes, the EMTs came and carried her out, and my brother Danny, along with his girlfriend Laura, came in time to see her be put into an ambulance. He knew better than to ask me what happened. I couldn’t say a straight answer anyway. I just stared at the streetlamp
         Conveniently, Harlem Hospital wasn't far from my house. It was only a couple blocks away, so Danny, Laura, my little brother and I didn't have to trudge the snow for a long time. People were walking down the block, and kids were happily playing in the snow, making mini snowman that were built poorly and starting snow ball fights. I envied them. While they were having fun, I was wiping tears out of my eyes, trying to stay calm. That was the first time I realized I was a very jealous person. At the hospital, it was exactly how you expected it to be. It was filled to the brim with people who were worried about their health, even though 55% of people there only had a cold or a bad cough. I guess New Yorker’s are good at exaggerating too. I took my seat while my little brother explored the lobby. Danny went up to the reception desk, and quickly disappeared in this maze they call a hospital. Laura stayed with my little brother and me, giving me ensuring words that my mom would be just fine. So, the day went on from there. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours. Eventually I spent the entire day there. My older brother and sister, Andy and Barbara, managed to come to the hospital during that time period, and just like Danny, disappeared in the maze. I can’t really remember what time it was, but it was dark outside so I knew it was a bit late. Laura got a call on the phone, and it was a brief call. It only lasted a couple seconds. I don’t remember all the words Laura told me. I guess I was spaced out, but I clearly remember her saying “At least she’ll be alive in your memories”. That’s all I needed to hear. Those words were a sudden stab in my heart, and were poison in my stomach. While I contemplated what Laura had just told me, I broke down crying while trying not to make a scene. I was wearing a hoodie at the time, and I can still remember tears falling on to my sweater as I put on my hood to cover my face. I can’t remember how long I spent crying, but it was long enough for a lot of family members to come to the hospital, including my dad.
         In a sad, but sort of funny twist, my dad and my sister went to a nearby McDonald’s and bought me some fries with tears in their eyes, hoping that it would cheer me up. All I did was hold onto those fries, and I’m pretty sure they got cold, so I just gave them to my little brother, who couldn’t fully comprehend the situation. He ate happily while family members broke down crying, including my sister. I blacked out at one point, but eventually I found myself inside a black taxi cab. My dad was sitting next to me not saying a word. The taxi cab passed by my house but stopped at a stoplight. As I looked out my window questioning God’s mysterious ways, I saw the streetlamp. Unbelievably, as I stared at that same streetlamp, the orange light bulb flickered on and off, until eventually it went out altogether. Then we drove away. At that point I stopped questioning God for a moment. The only thing on my mind was how pretty the orange color of the light bulb looked at that moment, and how quickly it burned out. I had already begun to miss that streetlamp.