Foster Home I have been through many obstacles in my life so here I am to relive this one for you. Brace yourself I’ll take you on a trip down memory lane. If I were to look back on the most effective memory of my life it would have to be when I placed in a foster home. I was born in Opelousas, Louisiana then moved to Beaumont, Texas with my mom, brother and sister. At the time we lived in an apartment complex near my mom’s twin sister and her three kids. Life was a struggle being the only one not knowing my father. My three cousins and my siblings all had different fathers, none of which supported the family, nor did they bother to show. This was an even bigger problem for my mother because we were at the time living off of food stamps, and barely getting by. Sometimes I remember when we would have to depend on other family or close friends to lend us a hand. Since my mother was in such need of help, my brother was taken to live with his father. So, then it was just us three struggling in the small apartment we could barely afford. My mother was a problem herself; she had struggled with drugs. She never did drugs in front of my sister and I, she would just leave us, and we were left in the hands of my aunt, who already had three kids on her plate. One day, my mother was going to step out to the store with a boyfriend and I tagged along. Little did we know, we had left the stove on with a pot of boiling eggs atop of it. My sister, seven years of age had fell asleep on the couch while watching TV. By the time we got back, the pot was outside the back door scorched, and part of the kitchen had caught fire. My aunt had saved my sister. Some part of me will always feel that moment was my fault, because I was the one who had wanted eggs. How could I have been so forgetful? I could have killed my sister, “It’s not your fault”, and my aunt would tell me. In my head I always felt
that it was… My sister was then sent to Houston to live with her grandmother, and I stayed with my irresponsible mother. We were living in such a depression that we had to sell some of our furniture; at this point we were struggling as much as a homeless person. Because my mother didn’t have a job, she would just get paid by the government, who in tarnation knows what she would do with that money- drugs of course. It was a sickness, an addiction that overcame her. She was as hooked on it as a fish. One night, she had left me in the apartment by myself; I couldn’t go to sleep without her being there, so went in hot pursuit to find her. I figured out she was in the parking lot of the complex smoking with someone. She saw me and seemed pissed. She took me back to the dark apartment, which didn’t have electricity because we couldn’t afford to pay for it. She seemed irritated with me, “If you get back up again you’re gonna get in trouble.” “But I don’t want to go to sleep I’m scared”, I replied. “You better stay in this damn bed, if I come back to see you not here I’m gon’ call your grandma Patsy in Louisiana to come get you.” By that time I was crying, I was frightened by my grandmother. She was a very mean, strict, and religious person, and she would make me read the Bible. As a child that’s what scared me. She tucked me back to sleep. Moments after she left I aroused out of the bed, and as stubborn as a mule I went back outside to find her in the parking lot. Only this time she wasn’t there. I was in peril, a 5 year old in the dark of a large apartment complex. I didn’t know what to do, if I was smart I would’ve gone back to our apartment, only I didn’t I decided to go to a friend’s apartment building because I was scared. I swiftly climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. His mother answered and I explained to her that I didn’t know where my own mother was. She allowed me to stay in there and sleep on the couch.
“Don’t worry we’re gonna find your mommy tomorrow morning”, she told me. By time the next morning came I had been fed, little did I know that she had called CPS (Child Protective Services). I was so scared and had no idea what was going on. The agent started asking me questions, “Do you know where your mommy is?” “Where was she the last time you saw her?” These were all questions I could answer. Next thing I knew my mother shoed up with a boyfriend of hers. “What’s going on?” she asked in unison. “Where are you taking my baby?” The man explained to my mother what had happened, she simply stated, ”I just went out for a while”, then she looked at me with an assuring smile, “We were gonna go to Disney World today.” With what money? I couldn’t stop crying. What had just happened? The lady had betrayed me by calling CPS on me. I felt like a helpless duckling being separated from the mother duck. I was then placed in a foster home. It was torture for me. I didn’t know anyone and new people would come and go and I was still there. No one cared about me. None of my other family I damn well knew that I had. Until my aunt and Uncle from Dallas came through. They had decided to take me in to live with them in Garland. They had just moved into that house this year. I was so grateful! I didn’t know how to thank them. I had been in a Foster home for a little over a year and God had blessed me with people that actually cared about me. My mother didn’t care about me… She still doesn’t til this day, she would always call and tell me Happy Birthday, but she would never send any money, or any of the checks we know she received. She called frequently, ”Hey Keana baby, I miss you and I love you. I’m trying to get my stuff together so that we can be together again.” Bullshit. So far, I’ve been living with My
Aunt and Uncle for 11 years. I would always think to myself, it was all my fault for leaving the apartment that night. Sometimes I cry about it still. “Big girls don’t cry”, my mother would tell me. I wonder what would happen if I hadn’t left that night? Then I think about where I am now, with a beautiful loving family, house, and friends. I couldn’t ask for more. Thank You God.