Nowhere to go, But London
Claire and I walked out of our house with a dozen red roses, and walked down the steps to the front door. We turned the corner and walked the seven blocks to the graveyard. It looked so beautiful and peaceful, and the slight breeze was warm and safe. The sun had just come up over the horizon and the birds were chirping happily in the trees. The cool Spring air felt wonderful on my face as we walked over to a large gravestone. Claire set down bouquet by the gravestone that was now covered in all sorts of colorful flowers. I smiled and stood there staring at it, and I couldn't help have the feeling that my mother could see us now, I knew she could see us. I knew that she could see how we'd grown and how our lives have changed. Finding out we were witches was the most excited, yet scary thing that had ever happened to us. I smiled again and fixed the flowers by the gravestone and then we walked back to our house to make breakfast for our uncle. It has been five years since our mother had died, but I still remember it all like it was yesterday.
Rachel and I walked home from school to find our mother waiting for us in the kitchen. Our kitchen was full of tiles, tiles everywhere, and baby things too. There was a highchair still sitting in the corner of the room, and several bibs lying on the counter. My mother liked to remind us of when we younger, it seemed to make her happier than she even was now. Every time we came into the kitchen, my mother would always wrap her arms around us, and say, 'My babies are getting so big!' But today was different. She didn't hug us like usual. And she was home; she should have been at work. Right away, I knew something was wrong. "So, how was my baby's first day of fifth grade?" my mother asked me beaming with happiness. "Oh mom, I'm not your baby anymore!" I exclaimed. Still, I walked over to my mother, put my backpack on the floor, and gave her a big hug. She turned toward Rachel and started to ask her about fourth grade. but suddenly she looked stern and silent. "I heard from your uncle today." My mother said quietly, tears welling up in her eyes. "Your father died on Monday in the hospital. He didn't even seem to know who he was anymore, and it finally took his body over, and he died."
I stared at my mom and tried to read the expression on her face. My mother didn't often talk about Kevin. Kevin was our dad. He still is of course, but he was never around to raise me. When I was five and Claire was six, he went into a state of depression. My mother couldn't handle having us around him, so she asked for professional help. When the hospital took a look at him, he seemed to have a bad case of depression, plus a serious and rare heart condition. My mother never told us what it was; she didn't like to talk about it. Kevin stayed in a home for his depression, and often had to go to the hospital for more heart complications. We wanted to visit him so many times, but my mother only let us go once a month. And once a month turned into once a year. We hardly had any contact with Kevin at all, but we still talked to him sometimes on the phone. Although he seemed more like a stranger than a dad to me, I liked our conversations. He always told us how much he missed us, and we could talk to him about anything we wanted to. About a month ago, Kevin didn't know who we were, and he started calling mom Casey instead of Cindy. I cried every time I saw him, knowing how hard it must have been for them, and then, that one day in the kitchen, my mother just told us he was dead. We went to his funeral with my Uncle George, but I didn't cry. When I saw them lower his coffin into the ground, I smiled. Kevin didn't even know who he was before he died. I imagined how painful that must have been, so I figured death could only have been a step up from that. I was only eight, and I didn't know that in a few years, Claire and I would be needing Kevin, more than ever. But we watched the funeral smiling at my mom as she stood up to speak after Uncle George was done, and I listened quietly, feeling happy for my dad.
We watched my mom for a year after Kevin died in silence. We never asked her anything, and we started to take care of her more and more. My mother seemed to be growing weak as my father had, and we didn't want anything to happen to her. We would usually walk her to work early in the morning, and then run to school, often getting in trouble for being tardy. We didn't care though; there were no detentions in elementary school. When we got home from school, we would finish up our homework quickly and fix the house up. Then, if we still had time, we would sit down and watch television. Our mother took a bus home at five o' clock, and that was our cue to start making dinner. We'd sit her down on the sofa and give her the remote to the television. Then we would walk into the kitchen, and start to cook supper, knowing that she was tired from all her work. Sometimes we'd make a real meal, but usually we would just heat up a pizza or a TV dinner. After dinner, we either walked to ours room to go on the internet, call some of our friends up on the phone, or take a walk. Whenever we took a walk, we'd go to the same place: Kevin's grave. We knew that my mother wouldn't approve of where we were going, so we'd go on our own, and sneak a flower from the garden to take with us. Usually we'd get to the gravestone, sit down next to it, and just think about life, anything. Then we'd walk back home, get ready for bed, and mom up to bed at exactly 9:30pm. On Saturdays, we woke up around eight, made a bowl of cereal, and sat down on the couch to laugh our heads off watching cartoons. Mom would usually wake up around nine from our laughter and join us on the sofa. I loved sitting next to my mom, hearing her breath, watching her eyes on the screen, and not have to say anything. We all liked our house the way it was, quiet. Then on Sunday mornings, we'd walk our mom the three blocks to church. We'd sit in the back of the church, listening to the sermon. I listened to the sermon anyway, but I could never tell if mom was really there with us. Her body was always there, but it seemed like her mind was somewhere else. But it made me happy to know that we were with her. Nothing ever changed, and that's the way we liked it.
Then one day, something horrible happened. Our lives were flipped upside- down. We were all driving down the street, Claire and I listening to tunes on the radio. It was dark and the rain was pouring down hard on the windshield. There weren't very many cars on the road, so the only light we had was from our headlights. Suddenly, the headlights went out and my mom tried to stop the car to get a flashlight and fix them. But instead of stopping, the car swerved to the right, and it landed in a ditch sideways. My mom lay against the side window, motionless. I screamed and Claire dug the cell phone out of a pile of dirt. Claire's fingers were shaking so badly. She couldn't dial the number. I took the phone from her and dialed 911. The numbers started looking fuzzy, "Hello? Hello? We need help! Where in a ditch." Then, blackness engulfed me.
Strange noises surrounded me. Where was I? I remember telling myself that it must've been a dream. It had to have been a dream. I quickly opened my eyes. Where were Rachel and mom? Reality hit me like a ton of bricks. The nurse told me that Rachel and I had come out of the wreck very lucky. She said it was a miracle. We only had a couple of scratches and Rachel got a concussion. My mom, however, was not so fortunate. She had fallen into a coma. Rachel and I visited her that night. While we were sitting by her and praying for her, the monitors started beeping loud. Her heart had stopped. The nurses couldn't revive her. I comforted Rachel. We were now the only ones in our family left. All we had was each other. I was extremely sad also, but somehow, I stayed calm. I was extremely sad, but somehow, I stayed calm. I couldn't help feeling that it was what God wanted, and that it was all part of his plan.
Claire and I walked out of our house with a dozen red roses, and walked down the steps to the front door. We turned the corner and walked the seven blocks to the graveyard. It looked so beautiful and peaceful, and the slight breeze was warm and safe. The sun had just come up over the horizon and the birds were chirping happily in the trees. The cool Spring air felt wonderful on my face as we walked over to a large gravestone. Claire set down bouquet by the gravestone that was now covered in all sorts of colorful flowers. I smiled and stood there staring at it, and I couldn't help have the feeling that my mother could see us now, I knew she could see us. I knew that she could see how we'd grown and how our lives have changed. Finding out we were witches was the most excited, yet scary thing that had ever happened to us. I smiled again and fixed the flowers by the gravestone and then we walked back to our house to make breakfast for our uncle. It has been five years since our mother had died, but I still remember it all like it was yesterday.
Rachel and I walked home from school to find our mother waiting for us in the kitchen. Our kitchen was full of tiles, tiles everywhere, and baby things too. There was a highchair still sitting in the corner of the room, and several bibs lying on the counter. My mother liked to remind us of when we younger, it seemed to make her happier than she even was now. Every time we came into the kitchen, my mother would always wrap her arms around us, and say, 'My babies are getting so big!' But today was different. She didn't hug us like usual. And she was home; she should have been at work. Right away, I knew something was wrong. "So, how was my baby's first day of fifth grade?" my mother asked me beaming with happiness. "Oh mom, I'm not your baby anymore!" I exclaimed. Still, I walked over to my mother, put my backpack on the floor, and gave her a big hug. She turned toward Rachel and started to ask her about fourth grade. but suddenly she looked stern and silent. "I heard from your uncle today." My mother said quietly, tears welling up in her eyes. "Your father died on Monday in the hospital. He didn't even seem to know who he was anymore, and it finally took his body over, and he died."
I stared at my mom and tried to read the expression on her face. My mother didn't often talk about Kevin. Kevin was our dad. He still is of course, but he was never around to raise me. When I was five and Claire was six, he went into a state of depression. My mother couldn't handle having us around him, so she asked for professional help. When the hospital took a look at him, he seemed to have a bad case of depression, plus a serious and rare heart condition. My mother never told us what it was; she didn't like to talk about it. Kevin stayed in a home for his depression, and often had to go to the hospital for more heart complications. We wanted to visit him so many times, but my mother only let us go once a month. And once a month turned into once a year. We hardly had any contact with Kevin at all, but we still talked to him sometimes on the phone. Although he seemed more like a stranger than a dad to me, I liked our conversations. He always told us how much he missed us, and we could talk to him about anything we wanted to. About a month ago, Kevin didn't know who we were, and he started calling mom Casey instead of Cindy. I cried every time I saw him, knowing how hard it must have been for them, and then, that one day in the kitchen, my mother just told us he was dead. We went to his funeral with my Uncle George, but I didn't cry. When I saw them lower his coffin into the ground, I smiled. Kevin didn't even know who he was before he died. I imagined how painful that must have been, so I figured death could only have been a step up from that. I was only eight, and I didn't know that in a few years, Claire and I would be needing Kevin, more than ever. But we watched the funeral smiling at my mom as she stood up to speak after Uncle George was done, and I listened quietly, feeling happy for my dad.
We watched my mom for a year after Kevin died in silence. We never asked her anything, and we started to take care of her more and more. My mother seemed to be growing weak as my father had, and we didn't want anything to happen to her. We would usually walk her to work early in the morning, and then run to school, often getting in trouble for being tardy. We didn't care though; there were no detentions in elementary school. When we got home from school, we would finish up our homework quickly and fix the house up. Then, if we still had time, we would sit down and watch television. Our mother took a bus home at five o' clock, and that was our cue to start making dinner. We'd sit her down on the sofa and give her the remote to the television. Then we would walk into the kitchen, and start to cook supper, knowing that she was tired from all her work. Sometimes we'd make a real meal, but usually we would just heat up a pizza or a TV dinner. After dinner, we either walked to ours room to go on the internet, call some of our friends up on the phone, or take a walk. Whenever we took a walk, we'd go to the same place: Kevin's grave. We knew that my mother wouldn't approve of where we were going, so we'd go on our own, and sneak a flower from the garden to take with us. Usually we'd get to the gravestone, sit down next to it, and just think about life, anything. Then we'd walk back home, get ready for bed, and mom up to bed at exactly 9:30pm. On Saturdays, we woke up around eight, made a bowl of cereal, and sat down on the couch to laugh our heads off watching cartoons. Mom would usually wake up around nine from our laughter and join us on the sofa. I loved sitting next to my mom, hearing her breath, watching her eyes on the screen, and not have to say anything. We all liked our house the way it was, quiet. Then on Sunday mornings, we'd walk our mom the three blocks to church. We'd sit in the back of the church, listening to the sermon. I listened to the sermon anyway, but I could never tell if mom was really there with us. Her body was always there, but it seemed like her mind was somewhere else. But it made me happy to know that we were with her. Nothing ever changed, and that's the way we liked it.
Then one day, something horrible happened. Our lives were flipped upside- down. We were all driving down the street, Claire and I listening to tunes on the radio. It was dark and the rain was pouring down hard on the windshield. There weren't very many cars on the road, so the only light we had was from our headlights. Suddenly, the headlights went out and my mom tried to stop the car to get a flashlight and fix them. But instead of stopping, the car swerved to the right, and it landed in a ditch sideways. My mom lay against the side window, motionless. I screamed and Claire dug the cell phone out of a pile of dirt. Claire's fingers were shaking so badly. She couldn't dial the number. I took the phone from her and dialed 911. The numbers started looking fuzzy, "Hello? Hello? We need help! Where in a ditch." Then, blackness engulfed me.
Strange noises surrounded me. Where was I? I remember telling myself that it must've been a dream. It had to have been a dream. I quickly opened my eyes. Where were Rachel and mom? Reality hit me like a ton of bricks. The nurse told me that Rachel and I had come out of the wreck very lucky. She said it was a miracle. We only had a couple of scratches and Rachel got a concussion. My mom, however, was not so fortunate. She had fallen into a coma. Rachel and I visited her that night. While we were sitting by her and praying for her, the monitors started beeping loud. Her heart had stopped. The nurses couldn't revive her. I comforted Rachel. We were now the only ones in our family left. All we had was each other. I was extremely sad also, but somehow, I stayed calm. I was extremely sad, but somehow, I stayed calm. I couldn't help feeling that it was what God wanted, and that it was all part of his plan.