The morning came, not knowing my future self was about to cry. I sprang out of bed without waking mom due to my enthusiasm from yesterday’s events. I ran up to big bear Bill in his recliner and asked him for breakfast. “Waffles please!” I said brightly, patiently waiting for his response. He directed his gaze on my 5 year old self and his jolly self replied back. “Well, if we want waffles, we can ask Lisa to make them.” I started to get giddy from that name. Lisa. My mother’s name. I always loved everything about her, especially her name and personality. He slumped up from his odorous chair and stepped over towards the guest room. I stared at the door and waited patiently for his return. A few minutes later when he returned, Bill’s smile was lost in a face I have never seen him have before. He sprinted to the phone in a haze, dialing 3 numbers that I did not know at that age. 911. His words were speedy; I was unable to comprehend what they meant at my age. He hung up the tangled corded phone and started pacing; he was murmuring something under his breath that I could not hear. I tugged at his shirt wondering what was wrong, but when he looked down at me, his eyes were teary and red; I comprehended this was not a good sign.