There's A Home For Everyone And Everyone Has A Home

Gunshots, Glass Shattering, this is all I hear one night in my Delaware hometown so I slowly roll out of bed, slightly open my curtain and I see the most horrifying thing in the world and it was many Patriot people lying in a pool of blood... DEAD. My father slowly opens my bedroom door with a creak and quietly says my name, "Lillian, we have to leave." then he tells me not to ask any questions and to pack a few items so I could meet him in the downstairs kitchen. I pack my favorite doll; Daisy, our family album, a flashlight, my diary, and a few outfits. I quickly run down the creaky stairs and meet my father in the kitchen and my whole family is there with separate bags prepared to leave. Our front yard was surrounded so we had to take the back door. My little sister, Mary Ann and I had to watch Ma and Pa shoot about seven different loyalists. I wanted to cry, but I knew I had to stay brave for Mary Ann but I still was very, very sad. We soon were hidden from all the chaos and I asked father when he thought this war would end and he replied with no words, but they look he gave me told me that he was unsure.

We camped out in the woods for a while in order to stay hidden. We survived off a lake nearby, berries from bushes, and animals my father hunted down. One day a man was passing through and tried to steal some of the food we collected for ourselves. My mother attempted to stop him but the man just would not leave. He was very aggressive and pushed Ma to the ground so she tried to crawl away. My sister and I hid but watched as the whole thing happened. I was a coward. I should've done something. Because maybe I could have stopped the man from hurtin' her. He cut her. Deep. Ain't never saw that much blood. Watching this made me feel such intense guilt. This is my fault. I could've stopped this. The law doesn't seem to matter anymore. We provide for ourselves.

A year had passed. I was 9 and Mary Ann was turning 6 in two weeks. We ain't had much to eat and our mother was desperately sick with an infection from the cut in her lower leg. She never had it properly taken care of for obvious reasons. We had no medicine and no way to make her feel better but we did have faith - faith that God would help her.

June 19, 1776, a day before Mary Ann's 6th birthday. We found an abandoned bakery that was destroyed and there appeared to be nothing to salvage from it. But I, being a little girl, wanted to throw a small party. Pa thought it ridiculous, but Ma just wanted to see me and my sis smile. There was little to nothing, and what was left there was mostly moldy and inedible. Everything was inedible. Everything but blueberry muffins preserved in plastic wrap! What a find! We ended up staying the night in the lower level of that bakery because my mother couldn't handle walking to find another shelter for the night with her injury.

That night, I stared out of the window, up at the stars wishing that tomorrow would be a better day, but before I could take another breath I heard Pa in distress. He told me not to look. I looked. When I turned my face to see what was happening I tried to be brave, because I have to, for Mary Ann. I always have to. But not this time. This time, I just couldn't. I burst into tears and cried along with them. My mother's heart lost its beat. She didn't have a chance to say any last words. But I know Ma. She would've said, "Keep fighting." And without a tear, she would've said it. I know it. She's who I got my strength from. There was no party after that, for obvious reasons. Nothing else seemed to matter. I knew in my heart that we had to keep fighting and not only for our mother but also for ourselves, but a part of me just wanted to give up. I think we all wanted to. Because that would've been easier, simpler. But we couldn't. The words "Keep fighting", echoed through my mind and in case Mary Ann and Pa wanted to give up, I reminded them. We spent weeks just tired. Tired of everything. The universe has just taken so much from us. We had no more energy, no more food, no more hope, but just the smallest bit of strength. Just barely enough strength to keep us moving. Watching people come and go, well, it was hard. I started to think I couldn't count on this idea of "forever" being something that could be promised.