By Michele Lee Sefton, M.Ed. | Featured Contributor
“Oh, God,” I pleaded, “Please let me dance with my daughter again.”
That desperate plea flooded my brain during a moment that shattered a picturesque and perfect morning, several years ago, just two days before Christmas. My husband and I had just returned home from a long bicycle ride, when I remembered that our daughter’s preschool teacher had asked for a playpen donation to house a litter of pups. Caught up in the spirit of giving, it seemed like the perfect time to climb into our attic and retrieve our daughter’s playpen. I climbed the pull-down ladder and stepped into the dark and dusty space. My husband was at the bottom of the ladder, waiting for me to lower the playpen down to him. My simple act of generosity did not go according to plan. As I was attempting to lower the playpen, I slipped and in an instant I crashed through drywall, which sent me plummeting to the garage floor below.