We moved straight into my nana's house. While my parents looked for jobs and a place of our own. Things seemed great a first. I enjoy getting to know our family members. See new places and make new friends. It's was scary but fun.
My nana, she was my favorite. She was full of life, a little crazy, funny. She's that person you loved to be around. She didn't know it but she was amazing. I could tell my mother adore her. They were so close. We all started to become close a tight-knit family. Life was good. For a little anyways.
That's the way of like you have to take the good with the bad. We had good times. I treasure those times and the memories I have from them. Our bad times were bad, really bad. Times you don't talk about. Times you try to forget. Sometimes you even do.
Not too long after moving my mother announced she was pregnant. How exciting! I was 8. I always wanted a little brother or sister. With a news or sometime around the news we found our own place. A place to call home. I would have my own room so would my sibling. Our own space. It was time we worn our welcome in my nana's place. Not in her account. On her husbands account.
We were all excited about the move. We startled moving stuff out or storage right away. We had to stay at nana's until the electricity was cut on. We get to the new house. We discovered almost all of our stuff was stolen that first night we moved items in. As a child I was so scared. I thought they would come back. Not a great way to start new adventures in our new house.
I didn't know that would start to set the tone of how things would go. Our life was different. It wasn't until that time did I realized. You can't always feel safe. I felt that house would make me feel safe. Give me the stability I craved. I wish it would have. At such a young age 9. I shouldn't have been feeling the way I was. I guess I have alway and will always been a over analyzer.
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