I visited my childhood home this evening; it was foreclosed in August 2005. I haven’t passed by that area since then. During 2003-04 after their divorce, my father found out me, my mother and brother were moving apartments month to month, almost homeless. He gave us the house for the sake of his children. He moved out while the three of us moved in on Dec 2004. And my disgusting-sorry-excuse-of-a-mother treated that home like a hotel. She has never paid any amount of the mortgage and destroyed my father’s credit (the house title was still under his name). I lost my home in 8 months after years my father worked hard to maintain it since 1995. This event, migrating with my mother among strangers and the stress she inflicted upon this family. A demon of depression inhabited in me, due to negligence; lack of care & love from her. It was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. It haunts me. I called CPS to arrange custody to live with my father after the foreclosure.
I’m 24, almost a college graduate. I lost over 50 lbs. I have God in my life. My life has improved miraculously. Almost 9 years later and today in a beautiful afternoon, decide to pass by my little blue house out of bizarre curiosity. The red door looks completely beaten and rusted. My father bought these two bronze house numbers once we moved in. The number 2 is missing. There are absent blinds by the windows. It is completely inhabitable. I desperately wanted to peek my bedroom window behind the house, but I couldn’t. I teared a little. No, I kinda let out a big cry. I learn from these horrific events. If God ever blesses me with children, I’ll be damned if I ever let them go through all this.