September 23, 1992
Just a mere five years old.
Waiting patiently in my aunt's quaint house,
My reflection smiled back from the window I looked out.
The daylight that occupied twenty-four hours had slowly begun to fade away.
It's the statement nature makes to tell us summer's over,
Although it would seem my life was over instead.
It was late when my mom drove onto the gravel path,
Headlights shining in the window but then becoming dim,
When she shut off the ignition of my father's car.
She dragged herself in the house with an expression unknown.
Even then, I didn't know my house would shelter one less.
She sat on the couch of blues and whites.
She took my hands, and hers were a mess;
Cold, aching, tired, shaking.
Then I heard the words that will forever haunt my heart.
"Kristen, daddy's gone."
I didn't cry because I didn't understand.
I thought I'd go home and see him there like I always did.
But never again did I see him in that house of ghostly white.
It was then that I cried when I got home that night.
Which was almost fourteen years ago,
The twenty-third of September, nineteen ninety-two.