I was eight years old the spring of 2003, a happy young girl with plenty of friends. I had a happy home -or what I thought to be a happy home- and loving family. I couldn’t have been more content with my life. One day after coming home from school I walked in the door to my grandmothers house, something wasn’t quite right. I remember the solemn looks on my family members faces, tear stains on my dad and grandmas cheeks threw up a red flag that something terrible had happened. I was confused why no one would tell me what was going on. I remember thinking how much I hated when my mom was gone out of town, because it always seemed like its when I needed her the most, she always tried to help me understand things that no one else would try to explain to me.
My younger sister, Taylor and I were sent to one of the spare bedrooms, we curled up on the bed and waited impatiently for someone to enter the room. I tried to comfort Tay, telling her that when mommy came back from her trip out of town she would help us understand. I ran my fingers of her back to calm her, as I had learned to do so by watching my mom to it countless time for her. “Everything will get better sis, dont worry.” I repeated over and over in an attempt to bring peace to her mind, as well as my own.
Much time passed and Tay and I had fallen asleep on the small bed. My grandmother and my moms close friend, Katie entered the room waking me, I tapped Taylor on the back. She woke up easily and waited for someone to explain. We were then told we had lost our mommy.
No comments:
Post a Comment