My parents told me we were having a family meeting in the living room, soon after I was bawling my eyes out and hyperventilating as if my mom and dad were both just killed right before my eyes. Most likely, you’d like to know why I was reacting so harshly.

  I was 8 years old on January 6th 2019. 1 month and 1 day exactly before I turned 9. I had just came home from church with my mom, dad and brother. My parents told me to come sit with them in the living room. I went over to the near carpeted floor and sat across from my mother and father. I had thought it was about my dad moving out of his apartment that he was very unhappy with. I was so foolishly wrong that it makes me feel dumbfounded to this day 3 years later. I sat down with my fluffy purple dress which covered my knees. I was so bright-eyed and happy, “my father was getting his own house.” 

My parents reluctantly opened up and told me what was happening. My smile crumbled into ashes and my joy melted away, I cried so much that my body could have been flooding and my eyes were the only way to drain the water. I was moving from my house. That may not sound like a big deal but my heart was in the shape of that house.

 I couldn’t stand the fact that I was about to lose everything. I remembered every arrangement of my room, I remembered every costume I dressed up as for Halloween, I remembered walking down the hill to my friend’s house in the cul-de-sac nearly every day for 4 years. It felt like I was hit with a bus then sliced into chunks and thrown into a volcano. 

Fast forward about 8 months, I was playing on my mom’s computer in the family room when the moving truck arrived. I was told to get off and get my cats in their carriers so we could drive to where we were staying for the next month. Due to the people in my house hadn’t moved out yet. And that day was the end of it. I hadn’t seen anyone or anything from that place for 3 years now and most likely it will be a long time until I see anything from there again.