Time heals everything Whenever we were children, we didn't understand situations as well as we would now as adults. No matter how many questions we asked at that young age, we were still perplexed. This is how I felt as a child whenever one of the most tragic moments of my life occurred. I was too young to understand how serious the situation was at that time, but now, after growing up, I can understand the misery and depression my family felt. It was a scorching summer day in mid-August as I played mindlessly with my cousins ​​in their rather large and spacious pool. The only thing that mattered to me, an energetic 6-year-old, was how much longer I could keep swimming without having to go outside to go to the bathroom. We had just started a very intense game of tag every time my grumpy uncle rushed onto the bridge; but this time he wasn't grumpy. He was scared, but at the same time very calm. He handed the phone to my mother and I could tell she was confused by his kind demeanor. Seconds later, my mother rushed off the bridge in tears, running to her car. The only words he kept screaming were: “Life gone! He's on the run from life! I didn't understand what it meant but I didn't care. I felt something was wrong with the way my mother was reacting and I just wanted to be with her, but she stormed off. All I heard was the sound of his tires screeching as he pulled out of the driveway and out of my sight. On August 5, 2001, my father was crossing the steep hills of a town known as Colliers. Exploring different trails on his new flaming red quad, he felt only joy and having fun with his friends. Horseback riding allowed my father to get away from the responsibilities of work and our family. Only this time, this... in the center of the paper... cut and saw what was in front of me; my stomach felt bad and I started to explode and cry. My father was lying on a large white bed with ropes connected to him. His arm was in a bandage and the doctors were surrounding him. He was crying and that made me even more angry. My father had broken his pelvis in 4 places. He looked helpless and unhappy, something I had never seen until that day. Over time, he learned to use his lower body again. With the help of my family and the support of his friends, my father began to improve. Doctors said he would never be able to walk again, but after three months of living in a hospital bed at his parents' home, cared for like a child, he regained his strength and is better than before. In addition to the emotional trauma this accident has left on my family, physically it is as if the accident never happened.