He brushed the hair from my eyes and stroked my forehead. My father closed his eyes every time I screamed in pain and whispered promises of release. I had broken my tibia and fibula (both shin bones) of my right leg as I celebrated my eighth birthday. That was the last time I went rollerskating.

I wore a toe-to-thigh cast for six months and though I asked friends to sign it, the novelty quickly wore off when my they were off swimming and riding bikes that summer. I'd often sit at the living room window and complain as everyone was out having fun and I was, well, stuck. One afternoon my dad said something that'd stick with me for years: Broken things take a long time to fix, so just sit where you are and trust you'll be okay when the time is right.

As an adult, I'm slowly realizing broken things–dreams, hearts, bones–take a long time to heal, but it'll be okay if I manage to sit and wait.