January of nineteen-ninety-six, my mother had just gotten news that her father, my grandfather, had passed away. She was distraught, simply because she couldn’t get to the funeral back in Colorado because of a slight impairment of being nine months pregnant; she then realized that her father wouldn’t get the opportunity to meet his grand-daughter. Two weeks later my mom found herself in agony, she couldn’t stand up, my dad wasn’t home, my oldest brother was at school, and my other brother was with the neighbors. My dad had gone to the grocery store with my uncle and my grandmother, whom had flown out right after my grandfather’s funeral. My dad walked in the front door and saw my mom, he dropped his groceries and helped her up, and he knew it was time. They got my mom to the car, my uncle and grandma stayed home to wait for my brothers’ to get home. Once my parents got to the hospital, they got my mother into a room. A few hours later I was born on January 23, 1996. In Kirkland, Washington at one-forty-one in the afternoon. On the paternal side of my family, there is French blood, and on the maternal side, there is German blood. Which left me with extremely pale skin, green eyes, and very vibrant almost white-blonde hair. When I was barely one year old, my family and I made the move back to Colorado. My mom didn’t want to be too far away from my grandmother for very much longer. We lived with my grandmother for about a year, and then we found a house. My uncle helped my parents put the down payment on this house. We moved in, my brothers got enrolled in school, and my mom started teaching me at home, my ABC’s, and my numbers. When I turned five, my mom was able to enroll me into Kindergarten. I was so excited, yet so scared to be going to school. I was a big girl now. Between the time of Kindergarten and third grade, I had what I thought was a normal childhood. I had friends, but I still mainly only spent time with my brother, Shawn, who is only 23 months older than I. We played outside, we played video games, we walked to and from school together every day, we took care of each other, which seemed completely normal to both of us. In 2005, I was starting my fourth grade year, this year was such a shock to me, my brother had moved up to middle school. And I was scared, I had to walk to school alone, I had to wait, one whole hour after I got home for my best friend, my brother, to get home. My first week of school was miserable. As time went on I got more used to not always having my brother around. Then my life took a dramatic turn. In the last week of August, I went to my friend’s house after school, around five o’clock that evening we were sitting at a park, and I saw two cop cars drive around the apartment building. The next thing I knew my friends’ dad came out and asked me to come with him. As I walked up to the apartment I saw a lady I have never seen before in my life standing next to my brother, he was crying, so I immediately began crying. They told me that I couldn’t live with my mom for a while. I didn’t understand, in my mind, my mother was the perfect mother. She took care of us, did everything she could to give us everything we wanted, and needed. I obediently went with this woman, and she took my brother and me to these people, who I have never met before that moment. She told us that this is where we would be staying until they could let us live with our mom again. I was extremely upset because I didn’t even get to see my mom. And I didn’t get to for almost two months. After two months they allowed visitation. When I saw my mom that first time I latched on and never let go. I was so happy to be able to see her, and hug her as tight as I possibly could. After that first visit we were allowed to see her once a week. In October, the people my brother and I were staying with took us to the courthouse. I saw my mom, crying. I tried to run to her and give her a hug, but they told me I was not