Today I almost died, death by the bookshelf I was trying to tote up the stairs.

My dad somehow has it in his head that I can move large pieces of furniture.  Even with help.

Don't get me wrong--I felt the fight (flight would have killed me).  But no matter how tight you hold on with whatever ounce of strength you have, there's only so much willpower can do when your grip begins to slip.

Luckily, what my sister lacks in brain, she makes up for in muscle (and in heart):  she caught the damn thing (piece of shit!) and steamrolled through those steps like it was nothing.

Later on, she said to me, "The thought of you possibly being crushed to a pancake kept me going."  

My hero.