Forever in My Heart – My Dog Abby

Ming Fontaine

BEFORE YOU READ:
1. Share your experience with having a pet.
2. Look at the title, headings, and photos. What do you think the story will be about?

So Much Joy
Abby was only 8 weeks old when I brought her home. She was a Jack Russell Terrier. She had a long body and short legs. She was a very cute puppy. She made our house into a sweet home.

At first, she was too young for regular dog food, so we fed her milk. We had two cats before Abby came. One of the cats hissed at her. Abby fought back and barked at the cat. Abby was very brave and knew how to protect herself. Abby slept on my bed on my left side. I made a small pillow for her.

Abby brought so much joy to our house. When we had free time, my son and I would take Abby out to the school fields to play fetch. That was Abby’s favorite game. Abby could jump very high.

Our Protector
After my son left for college, Abby accompanied me for many years. Abby slept next to me. I never felt scared during the night. Every morning, when I went to work, Abby would walk with me to the door. After work, when I drove home, I could see Abby sitting in the bay window barking. I knew she was telling me, “Welcome home.”

One day, when Abby was four and a half, she wouldn’t jump any more. Fortunately, my son was home from college. We took her to the vet and found out she had a ruptured disk. We found a special vet who operated on her. Abby’s two hind legs were paralyzed. The vet wanted us to help her exercise her front legs, so they would not get numb. We took turns helping her. She couldn’t stand and only lay on the dog pad for six weeks.

One day, a person knocked on our door. Abby immediately dragged her body to the door. She couldn’t stand. My heart ached when I saw her crawling. Abby was still protecting us even though she could only move two front legs. She showed us love and loyalty. That was Abby. After six weeks, Abby started to use a splint to walk.

We took Abby to the school fields. She was so happy to be outside. The other dog owners looked at her with sympathy, but Abby was happy to see her old friends. One month later, Abby started to use her back legs. She was wobbly at first, but she gradually improved. She used to play with big dogs, but after this operation she avoided them. She was afraid of getting injured again. She sure was smart.

Every night Abby would sleep on her pillow on my left side. If there was any noise in my back yard, Abby would bark loudly.

Saying Goodbye
This peaceful life lasted 10 more years until she couldn’t walk anymore. The vet said she had cancer. We took her to all kinds of doctors. Even though she couldn’t walk, she still responded very well to us. However, we knew how much pain she was in. We decided to put her to peaceful sleep.

Abby has been gone for three years. But for fifteen and a half years, she made this house a sweet home. Now her pillow is still on my left side. I know in the daytime, she plays with her friends in heaven, and she comes back every night and sleeps next to me and protects me. Abby has never visited my dreams, but I know one day she will. I will wait for that special day to come.

AFTER YOU READ:
1. How did Abby make Ming’s house into a “sweet home”? Be specific. Cite evidence from the text.
2. Make a slideshow to share pictures of your pet(s). Describe what they are (or were) like and your relationship with them.

Ming Fontaine is a student at the Exeter Adult Education Center in Exeter, New Hampshire. She is from Taiwan and is a retired Chinese teacher from Phillips Exeter Academy. She holds a Master of Education degree from Lesley College. Her hobbies include long walks, walking dogs, swimming, drawing, and reading history books.

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“Home” Was Something to Survive

DeTachia Swain

BEFORE YOU READ:
This story references childhood sexual abuse. If you or someone you know has experienced sexual abuse, you can find help. Call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-4673. Or visit RAINN at https://rainn.org/.

It Happened Every Weekend
Sometimes it happened on Friday night, sometimes it was on Saturday. I never knew exactly when, but I knew it would happen. My innocence was taken at the tender age of eight by my mother’s live-in boyfriend. The abuse continued until I was 12.

He would come into the house drunk, though as a child I didn’t understand what that meant. I would wake up to him on top of me, his hand over my mouth, whispering, “You know if you tell your momma, she gonna whoop you.” So I just lay there and cried. I couldn’t explain the pain between my legs. I didn’t know what was happening—only that it hurt.

Early Childhood
My mother became pregnant at 14 and gave birth at 15—a beautiful baby girl. That was me. My grandparents believed she was too young to raise a child, so they decided I would live with an aunt and uncle.

When my mother turned 18, she took me back. I was three years old, full of energy and love, but suddenly surrounded by strangers. I cried nonstop, longing for the people I knew as my parents.

My mother was still young and not ready for the responsibility of a child. Every time she wanted to go out and have fun, my grandparents reminded her she had a child to care for. She took her anger out on me—with slaps, shoves, and harsh words.

The Abuse Begins
I remember being three years old, my mother doing my hair. She pulled it roughly, hitting my head with the brush while yelling at me to sit still. I ran under the bed, crying. She swung the belt buckle underneath, striking at me while I clung tightly to the bed frame in fear. I was too young to recognize her actions as abuse. I just knew it hurt. Love and pain blur together when you’ve never been shown the difference.

My grandmother and mother were pregnant at the same time. My uncle is only two months older than I am. We grew up like siblings. We shared laughter and innocent fun, especially when we’d joke by calling each other “uncle” and “niece” in front of friends who didn’t understand. Those were the few good times I remember.

Growing Up Too Fast
Being the oldest of six, I had to cook, clean, and change diapers before school. At school, I couldn’t focus. Once, I got in trouble for talking in class. My teacher hit my hand with a ruler and made me clap erasers instead of eating lunch. When I got home, my mother beat me for “embarrassing” her. I was only eight.

By then, she was pregnant again, and we lived in a rundown apartment that should have been condemned. One night, while sleeping on the bare floor, I woke to rats crawling over me. I screamed, and my mother beat me for waking her—then forced me to sleep outside.

Her abuse wasn’t only physical. It was emotional too. She called me ugly, stupid, monkey-faced, told me she wished I’d never been born. She yelled at me in public, made sure I felt small. She never hugged me, never said she loved me.

That kind of pain doesn’t show on the outside, but it lingers within. Verbal abuse bruises the soul. It steals your self-worth and leaves you doubting your value.

The Silent Years
Children who are abused by their parents become easy targets for others. I was no exception. I was terrified and conditioned to stay silent. Every weekend for four long years, it happened.

When I finally told my mother, she beat me. Just like he said she would. She accused me of trying to “steal her man.” I was broken. When I finally spoke, my truth was met with violence. No one in my family helped. I left home at 14. I moved from house to house, trying to survive.

Adulthood and Healing
I never got counseling or therapy back then. Everything was buried deep inside.

I had my first son at 19, another at 22, and a daughter at 28—my little doll, the one I never got to have as a child. I adored her, dressed her up, and spoiled her.

Then, one day, I woke up in a hospital after a seizure and an anxiety attack. Through therapy, I began to understand how years of abuse—verbal, physical, emotional, and sexual—had scarred me. I struggled to trust people. I wanted to protect my children so fiercely that I smothered them. My fear of them being harmed made it hard for me to let them live freely.

I battled depression and health issues, but faith and resilience kept me standing. God placed strong, loving women in my life who showed me what real love felt like. Who were these women? Let me say their names: Ma Sherry, Minister Valerie, mentor Mayra, my therapist Rasheed, my godmother Gloria, Rev. Dottie, and Rev. DiOnetta.

It was hard to accept their love and guidance at first, but I embraced it. And sometimes I had to fight for it. For example, it wasn’t easy to find a therapist who was right for me. I called a lot of numbers and hit a lot of dead ends. I finally found someone of African descent who I could relate to and trust. Her spirit was so uplifting and loving.

I am a fighter—not a casualty. I endured the “home” where I was brought up. My wounds are evidence of my resilience.

A Note to My Younger Self
You’re beautiful. I’m sorry.
It’s okay.
I love you.
It’s not your fault. I’m here for you.
We will get through this. You are a survivor.
Let me just hold you. Never give up.
You are gifted, talented, and special. I will always cherish you.
Always love yourself.

AFTER YOU READ:
1. According to DeTachia, what allowed the abuse to continue?
2. Why is it important for DeTachia to write a letter to her younger self? Try writing a letter to your younger self. What would you say?

DeTachia Swain is a HiSET student at Julie’s Family Learning Program in South Boston, Massachusetts. She is 56 and has three adult children and eight beautiful grandchildren. She has had many setbacks this year, but that is not going to stop her from achieving what she sets out to do. She believes it’s never too late to pursue your goals and create a better future.

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My Daughter Helped Me Build a Life Here

Ruzana Romanova

BEFORE YOU READ:
1. How do children help parents “build a life”?
2. If you have children, how have they affected the goals you have for yourself?
3. Think about the word purpose. What do you see as your purpose? Talk about a time you have done something on purpose.

Pregnant and Alone
There is one person in my life who makes me feel at home, and it is my daughter.

Before coming to the U.S., I was in a serious car accident. I broke my leg and ribs and spent a long time in the hospital. It was a very hard experience, and I was treated badly. After that, I promised myself that if I ever had a child, I wanted to give birth in a different country.

I came to the U.S. when I was four months pregnant. I was totally alone. Everything was new for me and I didn’t speak English. I only knew a few words. I had very little money. I started working on the day after I arrived. It was not easy to rent an apartment. During my pregnancy, I moved many times. I felt tired and stressed. Sometimes I thought about going back, but I stayed because of my daughter.

When it was time for my daughter to be born, I went to the hospital by myself. I was nervous and afraid. But one nurse was very kind to me, and the doctors treated me with care and respect. In that moment, I felt like I was not alone. That was the first time I felt cared for in this country. Sometimes home can appear in unexpected moments through kindness and support.

My Daughter Gives Me Purpose
The second time I felt at home was when I took my daughter to daycare. I cried because I realized how far I had come. Step by step, I became more confident living in this country. Through my daughter, I became part of this new life. Then I opened my own business and built my life in New York. Little by little, I stopped feeling like a visitor.

Now I can say that New York is my home, not because life here is easy but because my daughter helped me build a life here. She gave me strength, purpose, and the feeling that I truly belong.

AFTER YOU READ:
1. How does Ruzana’s daughter give her purpose? Cite evidence from the text.
2. Look at the illustration below. Write a few sentences that might serve as a caption to the illustration.
3. Read the stories on p. 16 and p. 17. What is similar and what is different about the author’s perspectives?

Ruzana Romanova is an ESOL student at Borough of Manhattan Community College in New York City. She lives in Manhattan with her daughter and has worked in the beauty industry for over 15 years as a permanent makeup artist and educator. She hopes to continue her education in the medical field.

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Home Begins Within

Sholpan Altybassarova

BEFORE YOU READ:
1. What does the author means by the title?
2. What is misfortune? Consider the prefix and root word. List other words that start with mis.

A Special Place
Looking back at my life, I remember only one place that I can truly call home. It was a rented apartment in the city of Almaty in Kazakhstan. My husband and I moved there after our wedding, and that is where our first son was born.

What made that place special? It was the calmness I experienced there. It felt like
everything in life was going in the right direction. I had just gotten married, we had our beautiful baby, and our happy story was just beginning.

A Loss
But misfortune came our way. Our beautiful baby died of cancer at the age of 14 months. It was the end and the beginning at the same time.

Since our son died, I have been searching for my home. We moved from one city to another, from one apartment to another. We even owned our own house. Later, we left Kazakhstan and moved to the United States.

Every time I moved somewhere new, I would start organizing and decorating my home the way I liked. I also easily made friends. But I still could not find that feeling of home again.

Building Peace Within Myself
Over time, I realized that home does not come from outside. I had to look inside myself and ask some questions: Who are you? What are you running from?

The answers did not come right away. I needed time for reflection.

Now I understand that home, for me, begins with inner peace—knowing who I am and what I am living for. To build my physical home in the outside world, I first need to build peace within myself.

For the past 14 years since my son passed away, I have been learning that whatever I want in my life must start with me. Everything around me is only decoration. I can create many beautiful and colorful things around me, but the true feeling of home always begins inside.

AFTER YOU READ:
1. In your own words, summarize Sholpan’s story.
2. Read the story on p. 16 and pp. 18-19, and compare and contrast them with this one.

Sholpan Altybassarova is a student at Alameda Reads in Alamdea County, California. She is Kazakh by nationality, born and raised in Russia. Sholpan is deeply grateful to Alameda Reads for supporting learning and helping her feel more at home in her new community.

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The Architecture of Us

Terry Evans

BEFORE YOU READ:
1. Share what you know about the word architecture. What do you think the author means by it in the title?
2. Think about the word familiarity. What does it mean? What is the root of the word?
3. Read the two definitions of shelter below and then use the word in various sentences.
a) any structure that gives you protection from the environment. For example: When it started to rain, I found shelter under a tree.
b) a place you stay when you need emergency housing. For example: After the fire in our apartment building, we moved to a shelter.

Familiarity
A home is nothing to me without my children. They make me feel at home even in a place that doesn’t feel quite like it should. When I think of home, and what exactly makes me feel like I belong, I think of my children. Because of them, I don’t have to worry about what the next house we move into will feel like.

I say that because we lived in a shelter, and it became our home for about three months. Within those few months, it took me some time to adjust. I was new to the area and new to the people around me. The only familiarity was my children’s presence and their love. I gave them all my attention to keep my mind focused and off the thought of how I would get used to living in a shelter.

My Children Are My Home
As a mom, I have had to find a safe and secure home for us with just the two of them by my side. The laughs and conversations we share with one another flood me with emotions. Soon, I start to feel at home. That feeling is something we carry with us no matter where we are living, whether that is with relatives, a friend, or even in a shelter. One thing is certain: my children are my home, especially when I don’t own a house of my own.

AFTER YOU READ:
1. Terry says she feels at home if her children are with her, no matter where they are living. Try using no matter in several of your own sentences.
2. Read the articles on p. 17 and/or pp. 18-19. Compare and contrast the writers’ perspectives. Make a Venn diagram and take notes.

Terry Evans is a student in the FACE Adult Education program at Blackwater Community School in the Gila River Indian Community in Coolidge, Arizona. She is currently pursuing her GED and Paraprofessional Certification with the goal of working as a para-educator. In her free time, Terry enjoys spending quality time with her children and traveling to experience new places and things.

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