Two years after my family’s terrible house fire, we just started settling back into a normal life in a new house in a new state.  We migrated to East Tennessee, near my grandfather on my dad’s side of the family.  Even though we lost everything we had in our house fire, the worse was yet to come.

It started as an ordinary summer day for my joyful six-year-old self in my house in Tennessee.  My parents departed for work, and I stayed alone with my two big brothers, Jastin and Shawn, and my little sister, Nevaeh.  My brother Jastin, who has a different mom, had transferred to live with us not too long before. Sitting in the living room, I silently studied my favorite cartoons. The living room was like a silent theater with only the television making sound.  Then, three loud thuds came from the front door and my brother bolted to the door. Upon opening the door, my brother was greeted by police officers with a golden sunlit background. I discovered Jastin had called the cops.  Although I don’t remember the exact accusations of the crime, I know he accused my parents of something.  I placed my hand on my chest and felt my heart pound like a horse’s gallop. My heart was a falling piano in a cartoon. I knew something bad was about to happen.

As time passed, my parents arrived home.  My brother, Shawn, and sister were crying, however, I was able to remain calm due to my lack of knowledge of the true depth of the situation.  As I peeked out the door, I watched my mom and dad being interrogated by officers.  My parents looked like clueless kindergartners.  The flood of flashing ocean blue and blood red lights, the noise of police officers discussing, the officers searching my house in and out was all a blur. It was just one huge blur.  My mom then approached me and surrounded me with her warmth as she hugged me.  My mother spoke up, “You are leaving.”

“What do you mean?’ asked Shawn.
“You are leaving to live with Grandma Jewell,” stuttered my mom.
“We are going to have to pack our whole room!” I cried.
“No, your things will be brought to you.  We will pack your game console and clothes. Your dressers can stay here.” comforted my dad.

Luckily, my grandma was able to gain temporary custody of us. I lived with my grandma, two cousins, and three aunts. Not going to a random family relieved me.  However, my grandma neglected my sister and me.  My parents told me that she only accepted us because she felt obligated to. After school everyday, my sister and I would go to a friends house in order to avoid my grandma’s house.

It became very difficult going throughout my day-to-day life.  I had to adjust my whole routine, from the time I woke up and had to get ready for school till the time I went to bed in a room with three other people.  My brother Shawn relocated to live with his dad in Virginia, while my brother Jastin went and lived with his mom in Ohio. My sister Nevaeh and I remained in Tennessee.  I occasionally spoke to my other siblings on the phone.  When they were able, my parents would visit.  I cherished every single moment of it.

“Dad!’ I would scream as he walked through the door.
“How long before we can come home?” asked Nevaeh.
“Not too long, sissy,” stated my mom.

I loved the feeling of spending time with my mom. We would talk for hours, which felt like short minutes.
I was constantly being pulled out of class and school to talk to different officers. One at a time, my sister and I would be taken to the guidance room.  Ironically, it looked similar to an interrogation room. They would ask me questions about my home life with my parents. 

“Do you have pets?” one officer asked.
“We have one big dog and six little puppies,” I stated. I would bite my nails. I was constantly nervous and would move around in my chair.  Sometimes I would stand up and lean on the table. 
“Have your parents ever hurt you or your siblings?” another officer questioned.

I shook my head no. I felt like a criminal. I never made eye contact. Most of the time I just shook my head rather then talking. Occasionally, I shed a tear or two talking about my parents. Officers would even show up to the house and interrogate me. I remember praying to God to let me go home. I prayed and prayed and prayed.  Please God! Why can’t I see my parents?

I can remember being so upset and crying to the point where tears just stopped proceeding down my face.   I would lay awake at night on a hard uncomfortable mattress staring into a midnight dark void, devastated about not getting to see my parents.

The hardest part was Christmas. It was completely different from what I was used to at home with my mom and dad.  I was used to cookies and milk, Christmas stockings, Christmas lights up everywhere, and tons of presents. But this time, there were no presents or bright green and crimson red decorations. Everything was so grey, white, and boring.

Eventually after a few months, one particular morning without any warning, my parents showed up. They carried in bins to pack our clothes to go home. I was a joyful six-year-old again. We all went home. I was able to return to my parents’ house. Once again, we started to rebuild our lives and family. This time it was forever.