Prologue
The thought of losing someone is always tragic. Surprisingly enough, it may not hurt depending on who it is. For example, when my mother passed away, it didn't destroy me. That much, anyways. She died four years ago, when I was four. My father has tried to raise me, with my older brother's help, and I'm the result of that. I don't play house, I don't dress up in frilly dresses, I play football, and jeans are my favourite things to wear. My brother was eight at the time, and was heartbroken. He made a promise to himself that when he turned of age to move out, he would move back to the house he was raised in for four years; his home. My parents moved to Canada before I was born, wanting to be closer to my mom's parents at the time. But I guess the whole plan back fired when my mother was hit by a drunk driver when crossing the road; she died instantly. I guess the guys in my life have never been the same since they died.
