I treasured my godmother | Families

By Serena Tsan

Summer of 2003, I was nine-years-old. It was supposed to be another fun filled childhood memory, and it almost was, almost. When summer ended, that’s when everything changed, and life wouldn’t be the same again.

After I turned three, I always spent weeks of summer vacation in the town of Gilroy with my godparents and god brother. Nights were filled with my godmother’s cooking, board games, watching rented movies, and eating popcorn. Weekends were immersed with BBQ, karaoke, rafting, biking, stuffing bugs into a little jar, and chasing after little slimy green frogs. It was always fun.

Leaving was always hard, but I knew I would be visiting my godparents again during winter break. I would hug my cousin and my godfather, and my godmother would hug and kiss me on the cheek. We drove off, and that was my last time seeing her.
It was the last weekend before school started. On another warm summer’s day, my family decided to have a BBQ, so we all ate outside. My mother was on the phone with my godmother; my godparents were in a car heading to a wedding.

“Hello? Hello?” I heard my mom say. She told me that the line went dead and that they probably lost connection.