When I was nine years old, life was simple. My responsibilities included,well, making my bed and cleaning my room...if I felt like it. Mum made me breakfast every morning, cleaned my clothes, read me stories, played with me, and loved me more than my young mind could fully appreciate.
In march of 1999, my family went on vacation to Washington D.C. for two weeks. I loved going to all the museums, monuments, and especially riding the Metro. But if I had known that it was the last time my family would be happily together, I think I would have tried to enjoy it more. At least, I hope so.
When we got back from D.C., something wasn't right. My parents would talk in hushed whispers to eachother and stop abruptly if I came into the room, my brother and I were sent to play at friends' houses more times in one week than I could remember doing so in a month, and Mum was always tired.
I don't remember how they told us, but I do remember how it felt--like the floor had suddenly collapsed from beneath me, and I was spinning out of control into a dark abyss with no way to stop, and I couldn't find my way back to "normal." What was normal?
I think the worst part was that my parents didn't tell me the whole truth They probably thought that they were protecting me, but it only made it hurt worse when it finally happened.
Mum started sleeping all the time, and she wouldn't play with me. Her excuse was always, "Not now, sweetie, Mommy needs to rest." I didn't understand, and that made me angry. Dad didn't smile anymore, and he was always busy. I was confused and lonely. I got to go to friends' houses all the time now, but I couldn't enjoy it. Life dragged on, but it wasn't normal.
In October, I turned ten years old. My whole family was there, but I didn't have a normal party--just cake and presents. Mum had a new haircut...it was short. I liked it, but it was yet another change within my family. THAT, I did not like.
One night, a month later, I said goodnight to Mum. Tomorrow was Dad's birthday, a happy occasion, right? But something felt off, or maybe out of place, but I didn't know what. I guess it was that sixth sense that all children seem to have. I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, and my stomach hurt. Early the next morning, I couldn't take it anymore. I got out of bed and laid on my stomach at the top of the stairs. I heard voices down below. At the bottom of the stairs were two strange adults in long, black coats. A man and a woman. They were speaking softly to my dad. He wasn't crying, but I could tell he had been. I laid my head down and watched them. The man in the black coat put his hand on my dad's shoulder and said something in a quiet voice, then he and the woman lwere gone. My dad looked up at me (still lying at the top of the stairs). He trudged up the stairs towards me. i swallowed hard, knowing that he was about to tell me something I wouldn't like to hear.
He took me into his room and sat beside me on his bed. "She's gone," he whispered, and dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders racked with sobs. I didn't move. Just stared at my dad, my lips pressed so firmly together that only a line remained. Slowly, in a daze, I made my way downstairs. I stepped into the living room. My Aunt Donna was there, sitting in my dad's big, blue armchair. I walked over to her, and as soon as I looked into her eyes, I knew that my dad had told me the truth.
She pulled me into her arms, and we sat there together, crying, me on her lap with her arms around me. I felt like my soul was being wrenched from my body, I was sobbing so hard. My eyes hurt, and I needed a tissue.
There we sat, me and my Aunt Donna, and I knew, that it was the end of normal.
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