The first time I moved to Texas was in 2005. We bought a big house in Frisco. I had never seen a house this big before, because the houses in New York were small and cramped compared to a middle class houses of Texas. I felt out of place at first, because all my friends were living in New York, and I was friendless in Texas. After I started school, I found out most people there were new to Frisco as well. I made new friends, went to a new church, and life was starting to look up again. I quickly came to love Texas more than I did New York; however, all good things must come to an end.
One night my sisters and I were eating dinner in the living room while my dad was outside drinking a beer and talking to his friends on the phone. After dinner my mom started walking us to our rooms. She then went outside to get my dad and she let him sleep on the couch because he has already passed out outside. We went to sleep and in the morning my mothers friend had come to take us to her house. Later that day, my mom came to her house crying and that's when I found out on September 23, 2005 my father had died of a sudden heart attack. I never really knew what happened until 11 years …show more content…
I did understand the concept of death, but I didn't understand that once that casket was closed and the dirt covered it up, I would never see him again. I didn't understand that the last time I spoke to him would be the last time ever, and thinking back now, I do not remember the last things we said to each other. Then again I was only six years old. At his funeral I saw most of my family again and hundreds of his old friends came to pay their respects. I did not know it then, but my dad was a very social person; and nowadays people still come up to me and tell me stories of my dad. After the funeral I did not know what was going to happen, would I stay in Texas and be raised by my widowed mother? Would I move back to New York to live with my dad's