I wheeled my mom's wheelchair down the hospital ramp. As I got to my aunt's car, I broke down again. I knew I would never see her again.
Fifteen Minutes Later:
As I walked through my house door, I saw my german shepard, Poncho just droop as he realized mom wasn't coming home. I grabbed him in a hug and told him mom was dead. All he uttered was a small, sad whine. I felt so heartbroken, so lost, so hopeless. I missed her so much.
Two weeks later, I was in a foster home because my aunt was too old to take my sister, her newborn son and I. Joe and Deb originally wanted to adopt but they heard our story and fostered us. I cried every day for a year. I refused therapy until my sister convinced me to go to a place called Erin's House for Grieving Children. For once, I felt connected. I wasn't alone anymore.
