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As soon as my eyes woke up to the bitter cold of the night and stars covered by black blanket of clouds, I knew that this was it. I had tried to prepare myself that day, but I was at school when it happened. The moment the intercom came over the classroom, “Hailey Wooldridge needs to come the office, her mom is here to check her out,” my heart stopped. I was able to make it to the office without losing my composure, but as soon as my eyes met my mom standing there with tears in hers I lost it. Right there standing in the school office, the food gates of heaven opened up in my eyes and I could not stop the rivers from flowing. My best friend since kindergarten had died. All the planning of moving in together when we went to college was down the drain. The late nights of watching horribly filmed scary movies was done. My heart was broken, and the pieces are still not taped together properly. Two days later was her funeral. Her mother had asked me to say a couple of words about her during the service, but the thought of standing next to her lifeless body talking about her and not to her made everything seem surreal. By the power of prayer and numerous amounts of tears, I stood up from my seat and walked lifelessly to the podium that viewed hundreds of people waiting to see what I had to say. I do not know how I got through that speech without hysterically crying, but somehow, I talked like I was having a conversation with Serra once again. In front of me, I

It felt a little like I was back outside again, my lava tears streaking down my cheeks, making my tear ducts sting. The room closed in on me and my eyes scanned the space from left to right, spinning and dancing across my mother’s concerned look. I can’t say I was angry, that I felt some predictable rage or crippling sadness. I just felt numb, untouched and untouchable. It was as if I was floating in the air, accompanied by the words my father just spoke, chasing each other around in some chaotic tornado, and yet everything around me was still. There was no feeling really, just reaching and grasping for something to be different, failing to comprehend.

I sat there in my room with tears flowing down my blush pink cheeks. Wondering what was wrong with me, as a salty tear ran along my dried out chapped lips. I thought to myself,” Why am I so miserable? What did I do to deserve this? How am I going to escape this life?” I started to ponder that this was the end of my life, this is how I was going to be, sorrowful. At the lowest point of my life, mother came barging through the door with the look of cavernous concern on her face. She knew that it was time for something to be done, whether I agreed or not.

I remember waking up that day and that feeling in my stomach, knowing what was about to happen. Growing up I knew about my father's sickness. My family, I recall, was always supportive. No one ever thinks about how one day, everyone you’re around for years, can just vanish. I cherished my friends as I was growing up. I lived there for a majority of my life, up until fourth grade. I remember sitting at a neighbor's house and having the mother come into the room and inform me that I need to be home swiftly. As I ran home, my head was crowded with thoughts to the point where I could not even think about why I was supposed to be home quickly. That day marked the transition of what would be the biggest change in my life. As by dad became sicker,

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

I went to my living room to ask my mom a question, to see she wasn’t there. I asked my brother “where’s mom?” and he replied with “shes at the hospital, grandpa got burnt.” I would never have expected “grandpa got burnt” to be as severe as it was. I remember my mom coming home around two in the morning. I got up and out of bed to ask some questions. She said “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Pack some stuff up, we’re going to Waterloo tomorrow.” So I listened and packed up a bag.

Morning arrived yet this time with a cheerful face of my mother and my healing brother’s smile. For the first time, this felt like home exactly, the way we lived 2 years back with warmth and happiness echoing in our house. I almost forgot the comfort of sitting on a couch or laying on a bed beside my mother. The aroma of her devouring food filled the house and the riddles of my ever loved brother never stopped, now, I had no need to keep track of

Every night that we were able to get hot showers we celebrating making it through the day. It was one more day down before we could see our families. We would wright our families every chance we got. The days we received a letter from home was like a kid getting told he was going to Disney World. We would rip into the letter tearing the envelope to pieces. I had never felt so close to my family. I knew I had taken them for granted and I just wanted to be in my mom’s arms

I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.

Although I hated to see her go, I knew that I would never branch out and meet new people with my mother present. As we said goodbye, the tears swelled up in her eyes and it seemed like the harder she tried to prevent the tears from falling; the faster they streamed down her cheek. Eventually my mom got back into her car and began the long trip home. There I was, alone in the middle of the street outside of my dorm. I walked back into Cowden, up the flight of stairs and into my dorm room in a trance.

It was an early September afternoon. The weather was warm with a light breeze of lake air. My mother and I were in a small garage trying to enjoy that last weeks of summer. My mom started to ask me a question about school and how I am doing, but while she was asking she started to slur her sentence she was going to say. The slur made her voice slow, as a snail. She realized what was happening and she stopped, like a bullet hitting a target a meter away.

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s

“It’s going to be fine,” that's all I hear from the lady sitting next to me as I am crying and looking out the window as the house I was first brought home to grows smaller and smaller. I turned around and cried not knowing what was going on and why I was being taken from my home. The lady next to me began to comfort me and held me close while I cried. I didn’t know her or the other people that were with her and I was scared. I had no idea where we were going and I had no idea where my brothers or sister were. We drove for about half an hour and then we pulled into a big parking lot and stopped. We all got out and they led me into a large building that smelled like winterfresh air fresheners. The sound of crying and laughing filled the air while kids and

I didn’t see it coming. All I know is one moment I’m leaving fifth grade preparing for middle school, and the next I’m packing my stuff into boxes. In the early morning of June 29th, we piled into the car ready to leave Florida for Chicago. The door slammed. My dad stood in the driveway saying goodbye to all of us. The car pulled out of the driveway with its roaring engine and started making its way down the road. My dad’s tall figure faded away, still waving. My heart sank knowing that this was the mark of something significant. It simply seemed like we were going on a road trip, which was partly true, except we weren’t going to return to that house to live in. My brother would but not my mom, my sister, and I. That wasn’t going to be our home anymore.

I remember being able to look up at the sun, clear blue skies and large fluffy clouds. Without thinking and second guessing myself, I stated, “ I wish that I could put this sky in my bedroom!”. I remember both my dad and brother looking at me and smiling with laughter. I think that they felt that it was a funny statement and an intelligent statement at the same time. My dad look at me and said, “Mere, well, why can’t you have that sky in your bedroom?” I next thing I knew, my dad had my mom calling our landlord and asking for permission to paint my room. I was blown away with emotions of feeling important and excited. The move to Oregon had put a financial hardship on my family of five. We went from owning our home to Atlanta from renting a fixer upper in the suburb of Portland, Oregon. There was a undertone in my family that children were not supposed to ask for extra things. Gifts and treats were given to children during holiday, birthdays and or after good behavior. Again, I was blown away with every positive feeling that a child could experience in that moment, especially when our landlord said, “yes” to the painting. I remember that my dad, brother and I got into my dad’s 1973 Datsun truck and went to go get paint. By the end of that weekend, I had a light blue painted bedroom, the same as the sky. This is just one example of how I felt significant and loved by the members of my microsystem. My parents had high expectations for all three of their children with behavior and academics. However, I knew that I was loved by both my