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Published on March 20, 2004 By Lost_Little_Sole In Welcome

I remember when I first moved to America, when I was only 5. I've lost my English accent. But the thing I remember most about my American childhood is snow..... It used to snow all the time where I moved. On the weekends me and my grandmother used to sit inside her wood cabin in front os a nice, warm, fire, sipping on hot cocoa. She used to tell stories about how America used to be, and how luckey I was to move here.

I was 10 years old. Mother woke me up in the middle of the night, crying. I had no clue once so ever what was going over. Then she calmly told me that grandmother had a brain tumor--and that she was in the hospital. We went to visit her. But for some odd reason, I wouldn't even look at her.

She eventually got better, but we grew apart. I gat to where I HATED to even be around her. I didn't understand why. The only time I would go visit her is when my mother made me. One day we had a huge fight about it. I really didn't want to go to grandmother's house. Mother just said "Fine! Don't go! But she's going to die soon!". But I didn't care.

She died that night. I was only 13. I never cried, though. It was like my life wasn't any different. But one day, when I was about 16, I came across an old colouring book me and grandmother used to colour in. And I cried. I cried for a whole month, thing about what a terrible person I am. I still don't think I'm over it.

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