I decided that age six was my favorite year and did not expect any year to live up to it. I was right when I turned seven years old. When I was six years old, my Mom was diagnosed with Leukemia Cancer. I was so young that I did not understand the severity of the situation and just thought of the hospital as a second home. When I turned seven, what I did not know was that her cancer worsened. I specifically remember standing outside the hospital with a clear shot of the window to her room. Friends and family gathered outside while we hung up photos of her and a big banner that said “Happy Birthday.” We later found out we were featured in the newspaper! Later that night we visited her and brought along a big cardboard poster of all of her celebrity crushes. After the best reaction, we enjoyed some cake. I was so happy at that very moment and did not want to leave that room filled with such joy. 

One night when I was seven years old, I was  driving in the car with my Grandma, we passed the hospital my mom was in. My Grandma asked me “Do you want to pay a visit to your mom?” Because we visited so often, I was not in the mood, so I responded with a simple “no”. Little did I know that that was the last time I would have said hello, give her a kiss or a squeeze, or say I love you to my mom. The next thing I remember was my dad gathering my siblings and I in the living room with a sorrow frown. Suddenly, my siblings’ heads fell to the ground and tears started to flood down their face. Once I understood what happened, I ran to my room, jumped in my bed and hid under my covers while bawling my eyes out. Although, at this age it was hard for me to understand the severity of the situation and that I actually had lost one of my parents. I was so young that I did not feel as hurt as I should have been, which caused me to easily get it off of my mind. 

Seven years old consisted of all of the homemade meals being brought to our doorstep in care. The fridge was always full with random tupperware. I ate so much lasagne that year that I’m unable to eat it today. 

At seven years old, I was so excited to go back to school because I spent a lot of time without seeing or playing with my friends. My first day back, I walked in and immediately all the staff in the office gave me a big hug or a friendly smile. All of a sudden, everyone in the first grade wanted to hang out with me and I didn’t even question it because I loved the attention. 

When I was seven years old, I remember going into my older sister's room wanting to play, seeing her covered in bed sheets, laptop open, hair a mess. She would immediately yell at me to leave. I remember my older brother sleeping in until 1 pm and hiding himself with his XBOX. I was surrounded by a grieving family 24/7. 

Now being an 18 year old teenage girl, I need my Mom the most. I am starting to grieve more and more, although I still feel guilty that I was not as emotional as I should be. I was so young, innocent, and was used to relying on one parent that it didn’t even feel like I had a Mom for the first seven years of my life. Today, I always look back on being seven years old as the year my Mom died and nothing more.