They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

For the first time in forever, I remembered things that I vowed I would never think of again.

I could see my mother's face, framed with really long dark hair, laughing. Something I hadn't seen her do for a long time after my dad started…

Her face disappeared and changed into Diego's face, in that beautiful look of awe as he cupped my sparkling cheek and whispered, "So pretty." I saw Loretta, that kind old librarian that was the closest thing I'd ever had to a grandmother. I saw Adam, that little third grader that had clung to me all through junior high. Sweet, sweet little Adam with the cheeky smile and big green eyes.

I felt that fluttery feeling in my stomach I got when Diego kissed me the first time. I felt the pain of my father hitting me over and over again when he would come home an angry, drunken wreck. I felt the love, hurt, and loss I got when I thought of my mother.

A scene played out before me. I was four years old, running around in the yard with our beagle puppy Tucker the year before he was hit by a car. He barked and I giggled as he nipped at my heels, chasing me. My dad, sober, was picking the apples from our apple tree up front and putting them in the basket. And my mom – she was standing and watching Tucker and I, laughing.

I saw everything. Every birthday, every Christmas, every beating, every moment with my mom and Diego.

Looking at myself in my full-length mirror, a pre-teen, lifting my shirt up to inspect the big bruise on my rib.

Sitting in the corner of the classroom in first grade, watching the kids making crafts with their moms on Mothers' Day, trying not to cry because I had no one.

Being laughed at as I walked out of the girl's locker room for swim class in 5th grade becuase I was wearing an old, stupid cartoon T-shirt over my swimsuit so they wouldn't see my bruises.

Coming home from Kindergarten, getting a surprise, and then sobbing over Tucker's dead body.

Finger-painting in the kitchen, a toddler, as my mom hummed and made us sandwiches for lunch.

Laughing with my mom.

Hiding under the kitchen table, sobbing, as I watched my dad beat my mom for the first time. Hugging Diego. Everything.

And then came the grand finale.

It was my mom talking to me as she tucked me in the night she left.

"Tomorrow, while Daddy is…out… you and I are going to pack up all our stuff and go on vacation. It'll be fun. But you can not tell Daddy, understood?"

I nodded solemnly.

"Good," she kissed me on the forehead. "Goodnight sweetie. I love you. Sleep well, Panda Bear."

She was gone when I woke up the next morning.

All my life I'd wondered why she'd lied to me about taking me and then left me there. But right then, as my light winked out, I finally understood.

Mommy didn't leave by her will. In fact, she didn't leave at all. Mommy never went out the door that night, or in the morning. She never did leave me.

Alive.

So I died with that fact in my still heart. Mommy did love me, and Mommy never left me. And, wherever I was going, maybe she and Diego would be there too. I let out a mental sigh of content as I looked on into the darkness. I was going to die very, very soon.

And I was ready.