By Marily Lopez
Los Angeles, Calif.
I woke to the sound of my father’s voice on the phone, whispering, “Marily, take care of your sisters while I’m gone. I love you.” As an eight-year-old in Sleeping Beauty pajamas, I was confused. I fell back asleep thinking I was going to wake up to just another morning of my mom and dad sharing a kiss and laughing about my little sister’s ridiculous bedhead. I thought the next day we would all be eating dinner and giggling about how my mom dropped her dinner plate all over her shirt and our dog licked food off her.
Instead, I woke up, and I saw my sister’s bloodshot eyes. She had cried herself to sleep. Confused, I went into the kitchen, embraced my mom and felt her cold tears on my small shoulders. Suddenly, I realized that this change was permanent. From here on out, it would only be my mom, my two sisters and me. Continue reading
