I remember having this crazy dream when I was about six years of age that was so enigmatic, I couldn’t even fathom what I had just dreamed of. My dream consisted of these eerie aphotic figures that almost appeared to be hands. These unnerving figures kept reaching out to grab me, and I didn’t know why, but all I could do was run away from them in the opposite direction because I feared I would never escape their clutches once I was caught! The worst part of the dream is that I couldn’t yell for help at all, or when I did try to yell for help there was absolutely no sound that emitted from my mouth. All I could do was run, run, and keep on running through this spooky gray emptiness. I continued running into the never ending abyss, then that gray emptiness suddenly turned pitch black, and that’s when I woke up.

What I woke up to wasn’t breakfast in bed or even my father yelling at me to get up. What I woke up to was more like hell, well at least for a six year old. My room was dark and I was still groggy. It was about 4:33 in the morning when I looked over at the red digits on my alarm clock that my dad had set up for me in his spare time. I heard faint voices outside my bedroom door. I couldn’t tell if it was my parents fighting but I really didn’t pay attention. All of a sudden the voices got louder, and instead of a few faint voices in the distance, it turned into cries and yelling. I could hear my mother’s voice yelling at someone. It was all really distorted so I went back to bed. I wasn’t much of an early riser when I was little. It wasn’t even three minutes later that my father had opened the door to my bedroom, stepped inside and flicked on the light. He came over to me and rested his soft and gentle hand on my back and graciously told me to get up. The next thing he told me was that he loved me a lot and that I should not have to worry about being afraid. I heard my baby brother Aaron and my little sister Amber crying louder than I have ever heard them cry before. I didn’t see or even hear our roommate Jen.
Jen was my mom’s roommate that moved in with us earlier that year. She had a son of her own that was about three years old I believe. My mom is a sweetheart and the type of person who loves to help everyone and their eighth cousin out. Though her heart is generally in the right place, she never really thinks through those things.
Jen always complained about something, ate all the food, and never helped to pay bills or anything of that nature. She even asked to borrow my dad’s 88’ Lincoln Town Car once to go to the store, and was gone for over six hours! When she returned to the house later that day the first thing I noticed was the whole front end of my dad’s car was utterly demolished. The bumper was absent and the lights were dangling out of the grill. The hood looked like an accordion and the front windshield was spider webbed. The whole front end of my dad’s only vehicle looked like a train had hit it. I took me a second to realize what I saw, then my eyes widened and I got up and ran inside, yelling for my father. When I found him, the first thing I said was “I think Jen broke your car.” His whole body language changed dramatically. His face was precipitously flushed with redness and his fists clenched. He jogged out the back door and when he saw the damage his apprehension turned into despondency. I think that was the day he decided he didn’t like Jen much either. 

Anyways as my dad was telling me to pack some things, I peered through my door into the hall way. There was a tall man with light brown hair and glasses and a shorter woman with deep rosy red hair conversing with my mother, who was crying and shouting at everyone at the same time. That’s when I saw two police officers carry my brother and sister out past them. I didn’t know what was going on, so I asked my dad. The only answer he gave me, and I will still remember it to this day, was, “It’s going to be ok. Dad and Mom love you very much.” He gave me a tight hug, kissed my forehead and a police officer took me away from the warmth of his loving hug. That was the first and only time I’ve seen my father cry. My mom was too busy screaming with everyone to even give us a hug goodbye. So I was carried down the hall, past my distraught parents, and as soon as we crossed the threshold of our front door, and stepped out into the frigid early morning air, the door was slammed behind us.

The next day I woke up in the back seat of someone’s car. We seemed to be driving through the country side of some town. The driver was a middle aged woman with short blonde hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. When she realized that I had woken up, she quickly said hello and introduced herself as Brandy. She told me we would be home soon and that I would love it. The drive there seemed like it took forever, and my siblings were not with me. When we did arrive to what I was supposed to call “Home”, she led me inside and showed me around and introduced me to her family. She served me lunch, and showed me to my room and told me I should take a nap and that she would be back to wake me in a few hours. I laid there trying to take the nap Brandy had so desperately wanted me to take. But all I could think about was why I wasn’t with my mother, father, Aaron and Amber. All I could remember was the commotion and shouting from my parents and two younger siblings. I missed them and it didn’t feel right.

My short time with Brandy and her family went better than I had expected it to go, but ended abruptly after 2 months. After that, I was moved around to two homes I didn’t enjoy at all for the next eleven months. Then one day while I was coloring, the foster parents I was living with called me downstairs to talk. I quickly dropped my coloring books, raced out of my room and through the hallway and down the stairs. I got to the kitchen, and they handed me the phone and said someone wanted to talk to me. Anxious to know who it was I swiftly snatched the phone and said hello. They say when you’re young and you first hear your mother’s voice, you never forget her voice. So when the voice on the other line answered with the familiar “Hello”, my body chilled and the tears I so longed to release, poured from my eyes. I told her I loved her and that I wanted to come home. She told me that she and my father were fighting to get me, and my brother and sister back. My mom let me talk to my dad and then I said my goodbyes. I went to sleep that night with more hope than I think I’ve ever had.
A few weeks later I was playing soccer with my foster brother in his front yard. He was the one who taught me how to dribble with the ball while moving and how to kick it just right to get it to go where I wanted it to. As we continued playing, a blue sedan pulled up in front of the house. The door to the car opened and someone stepped out. That someone happened to be the lady with deep red rosy hair that was at my house the night I was taken. When she saw me she asked me where my foster parents were and I led her to them. They talked alone quietly in the kitchen for about five minutes. After they were done, the red headed lady came over to me and told me I should pack up. I did as I was told and while I was getting my belongings together I thought that maybe I’ll never see my family ever again, and maybe it was all my fault, but did I do?

I said my goodbyes and we were on our way. I thought that maybe this next family would hate me or would be crazy. Not one word was spoken while we drove. Eventually we pulled into a parking lot next to a big tan building. On the building was “Child Protective Services” in big black letters. We went through the front door and the lady checked in at a desk and led me to a room. She opened the door and when I saw them, I dropped my coloring book, backpack, and coat, and ran straight toward them! My mother and father both greeted me with there warm inviting hugs and they both kissed me on the forehead. My brother Aaron was in his car seat sleeping. They told me Amber would be home in a few days and that everything would go back to normal. Turns out that woman Jen I was telling you about, was the one who caused me to be placed in Foster Care. I guess she got mad at my mom for something and lied to the police, saying all of us children were abused and it wasn’t a safe environment to be in. And if being in the only place I felt cared for was bad for me, something was not right. But I didn’t care. I was overjoyed and in love with fact that I was in my parents arms again. I’m so happy that my biological parents are still in my life. Some people cannot say those things. Being with the ones you love is all that really matters and I’m glad I got a second chance.