Heartache and misfortune are inevitable as we go through life, but it is how we respond to these misfortunes that defines who we are. No one wants bad things to happen to them, in fact we do everything we can to avoid going through difficult times, but some things can not be avoided. Something we can avoid is obsessing over the inevitably unfortunate things that happen in our lives. There was a time in my own life when I was on the edge of being consumed in my own sadness. In fourth grade, around my 10th birthday, I was at my grandmother’s house when my mom told me she wanted to take a walk with me. Of course I obliged and ran to get my coat, as it was that crisp September air that makes your nose hurt when you breathe in. We walked around
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She eventually asked me “you know your father and I love you right?”. To which I told her of course and told her I loved them too. My mother, the strongest woman I know, broke down into tears telling me she is so sorry but mommy and daddy just could not make things work anymore. She sat there hugging me and told me everything was going to be alright and I believed her. Little did I know that crisp September day would start the downward spiral of my happiness.
The next few months were a blur, packing up my mom’s things and helping her move out of the home in which I grew up. Before I knew it, I was living at my grandmother’s house, about 10 minutes away from my father. My father worked the night shift (and still does today), therefore we could not stay with him, resulting in me and my little sister seeing him every other weekend. I finished up my fourth grade year at Wequiock Elementary, my adorably small school with only around 150 kids total. By the end of that year, my mother had moved into a duplex in Luxemburg, while my father stayed in my childhood home. That summer, my mom informed me that for my fifth grade year, I would be attending Luxemburg instead of Wequiock. My heart sank, as all of my friends I had grown up with and loved were in
She eventually asked me “you know your father and I love you right?”. To which I told her of course and told her I loved them too. My mother, the strongest woman I know, broke down into tears telling me she is so sorry but mommy and daddy just could not make things work anymore. She sat there hugging me and told me everything was going to be alright and I believed her. Little did I know that crisp September day would start the downward spiral of my happiness.
The next few months were a blur, packing up my mom’s things and helping her move out of the home in which I grew up. Before I knew it, I was living at my grandmother’s house, about 10 minutes away from my father. My father worked the night shift (and still does today), therefore we could not stay with him, resulting in me and my little sister seeing him every other weekend. I finished up my fourth grade year at Wequiock Elementary, my adorably small school with only around 150 kids total. By the end of that year, my mother had moved into a duplex in Luxemburg, while my father stayed in my childhood home. That summer, my mom informed me that for my fifth grade year, I would be attending Luxemburg instead of Wequiock. My heart sank, as all of my friends I had grown up with and loved were in