A Childhood That Changed Forever: Love, Loss, and the Power of Small Moments

A Life That Seemed Normal—Until It Wasn’t

My childhood was almost normal until I was seven years old. Then, something changed forever. But there were already signs that something wasn’t right. This is more than just my experience. You will understand how a person can make a difference and how important you can be to someone—even without realizing it. It’s easy to forget that while struggling or simply living.

I was raised by my parents, and I have only one brother, but our house was connected to my grandma’s house. Actually, there was a passage from one house to another inside. I’m from a small town in the interior. Some houses share at least one wall. Mine was between three, counting the two neighbors, one on each side.

The First Signs That Something Was Off

One of the signs that something wasn’t right was that both my brother and I developed epilepsy after suffering head injuries from falls on different days. My brother knows what happened to him because the story was always the same, and there were people who could confirm it. But my story is different. I guess I will never know the truth. My mother gave me at least four versions of the incident, and even my brother noticed and questioned it as a kid. Which one is real? My belief? None of them.

The Little Moments That Mattered the Most

But let’s move on to something more positive. Later, we’ll go back to what happened.

My grandma took care of me, and I even slept with her many times. I remember waking up one day when she asked me to turn off the stove downstairs because she was making tea and had to go buy fresh bread. The store was pretty close, not even five minutes away on foot. I did what she asked me to do. I felt so accomplished, so happy, and so important. It seems so simple, but when someone trusts you, you trust yourself too.

Another good memory was when I went with her to the store, and she bought me a mint gum. It was something small, but I was so grateful. I wasn’t expecting her to give me anything. And another day, when she came back from the store, she asked me if I wanted butter on my bread and milk. That’s our normal breakfast. I’m from Europe. I miss that simple and calm lifestyle. I hope I can create that one day, even if I live in the U.S. now.

One day, my grandma and my mother were in the kitchen making cookies using our wood stove. I helped shape the ones with the letter “S.” They were just talking, but that sound was so relaxing and comforting. It was music to my ears and peace to my heart. Little moments are the biggest and the most important to me. They always will be.

As I mentioned before, I often slept with my grandma. She was funny and very loving. I remember one time when we covered ourselves under the blue blanket she had, and she hugged me. Later, she asked me to turn around so she could give me a goodnight kiss, then she hugged me again for us to sleep. She made sure I knew I was loved. Words were never needed. I confess that I forgot this for many years, but I finally remembered it later.

The Beginning of the End

Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time with her. When I was seven years and some months old, she got sick. Diabetes took over, and within a few months, she was blind. My brother started bringing his male friends to our home. She would chase us with a rolling pin in her hand. That sounds funny, but it broke my heart—seeing my brother do that, even though he was just a kid, and seeing her in such a vulnerable state. I started watching her and everything else deteriorate slowly right before my eyes.

I failed to mention how clean my grandma’s house was, but it’s important that you understand that. I could smell the waxed wooden floor and the detergent in the air. Even if my mother was the reason, because she helped her, my grandma was very clean and always kept everything shining and smelling fresh. Everything was kept in the right place. She wouldn’t pile up dirty dishes or clothes. There was no mess.

Then, something unexpected happened. One day, my mother and I got home, but we couldn’t open the door. My mother feared the worst, and she was right. I don’t remember who opened the back door that led to the kitchen, but I remember being inside and looking at my grandma’s face—surrounded by a pool of blood, her eyes looking like glass. I didn’t know if she was alive. There were no signs of life, no light, nothing.

Fortunately, she was alive and came back home after some time in the hospital, but she was confined to her bed. At first, she talked and asked for water, but soon, she stopped speaking. Nurses had to visit her to heal her bedsores.

Grieving on My Birthday

It was on my eighth birthday that everything changed for good. When I thought I was going to celebrate, I had to grieve and prepare for a funeral. I remember it as if it were today. The nurses came that day to treat her. I saw her face, and she looked fine—very much alive.

Since I hadn’t eaten my breakfast that morning and it was getting late, I went to the kitchen to grab something. I was still on the last steps of the stairs when I heard a commotion. My mother rushed down and picked up the phone. She was so distressed that I just innocently asked what was going on. I froze when my mother yelled at me that my grandma had died. She had to call my aunt and uncle, who lived far away in another city.

I didn’t celebrate my birthday until I was fifteen years old—no kidding! I didn’t know if I was celebrating life or death. But now, I would like to encourage you to celebrate life, no matter what. Being grateful for life is important, and for someone like me, it could also mean honoring the deceased loved one. Children shouldn’t have to carry the weight of situations beyond their control. It’s possible to celebrate life and honor the dead at the same time.

The Collapse of Everything

After that, everything changed radically. The once-clean and fresh-smelling home became completely nasty. Buckets and even cooking pans were filled with maggots. The table was covered in trash and dirty plates. Clothes were scattered everywhere. Trash bags piled up, and the house smelled like a garbage truck.

On top of that, I suffered abuse—mainly sexual abuse. But the worst part was when my father found out that my mother had cheated on him. That was completely the end of life as I knew it.

The Power of One Person’s Influence

I will be more specific about my childhood and other situations later. For now, just remember this: you can make a huge difference in a person’s life. You can either lift them up or destroy them completely. The choice is yours. I just hope you use the power you have in a positive way. The humanity needs it!