My second chance at life began on a cold winter night in 1981. I was five years old. Many people think second chances are given to those who have lived long enough to need or deserve a second chance. I, on the other hand, was in the first grade. My small world was filled with little girl wonder: stickers, kitty cats and the color pink. Life was good until that cold winter night where I found myself alone in a dark elementary school by myself and unattended. The stairs loomed larger than they did during the day. The shadows pressed down on me and I was afraid. It had been a bitter Minnesota winter with temperatures that dropped below zero. It was the year that blizzards ripped through the Twin Cities beginning in November and ending in April. The cold killed off everything in site, leaving Minneapolis an empty blanket of white.

Earlier in the day my mother allowed me to stay after school to play with friends. At first she didn't want me to stay, but I begged her to let me and she reluctantly agreed. A friend's mother promised to drive me home, but with the oncoming snow, a family friend was sent instead. The family friend did not drive me home. She told me to call my parents to come get me and left me at the school alone.

In a panic I called my house where I repeatedly received a busy signal. I waited in the hallway shivering. It was Friday night and they had turned the heat off for the weekend. I propped a book between the front doors and walked outside where I waited in hopes that my parents would come and rescue me. When I became too cold, I ran inside. With each minute a new level of fear gripped me. I called all the numbers I knew, yet no one answered. Years seemed to pass by and all of my five-year-old resources had been exhausted. With determination, I tightened my boots, zipped my jacket and put on my mittens and hat. I bravely strapped my backpack to my shoulders and began to walk.

Up and down the slippery sidewalks I roamed. Wet snow stung my eyes and seared my face. My hands and toes were numb with cold. Every breath I inhaled was like breathing a handful of needles. "I can't do this much longer," I told myself. I was lost and I was tired. The songs I had sung for encouragement were now silenced. I had even asked for help, but no one would help me. When I couldn't feel my arms I decided it was time to give up. I dug myself a spot on the side of a snow bank and readied myself for sleep. I was so tired and

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