A once beautiful, ever so lively, welcoming home was gradually becoming a desolate empty, cold and lonely house. 55 Sonia Drive, a beautiful house, with an awful hue of forest green paint job, a huge, immaculate front yard, an even bigger backyard, a carport big enough to hold three cars, two great, brick light post at the end of the driveway that stood like guards protecting a castle, and five grand trees, that seemed as if they stretched for miles. One was an Evergreen tree, another was a Magnolia tree, one was a vibrant Crepe Myrtle, and the last two were Pecan trees. My brother and I enjoyed climbing them. The backyard was our gigantic playground. We even had a little forest to play in. The home, originally belonging to my grandparents, was like heaven to me. Animals were lounging and playing everywhere. They had this extreme bright, yellow kitchen. Grandma was into sunflowers, so she had Grandpa paint it a ghastly yellow. I think he might have gotten the wrong shade of yellow because it turned out to look more of a banana and a sunflower. There was sunflower wallpaper lining the top of wall where it and the ceiling met. In the living room, wooden paneled walls, a skylight, the Bat Cave (a fireplace), a cabinet with a glass door that held all of their records and their record player, a white couch with faded pink floral prints on it, it was terribly outdated, and so many little stains on the carpet from messy grandchildren. We always loved going to Grandma and Grandpa's. In the year 2001, my mother, my brother and I ended up moving to the place that I believed in my mind to be heaven. Living there wasn't everything I thought it seemed. Things were not as happy as visiting made them look. Not long after, Grandma left. She was ready to pursue her dreams and go forth and start her career in child services. It was just us and Grandpa. I thought it was good. As the time passed, I started to realize it was not. Everyday things grew a li