My mother’s crying could be heard throughout the old colonial house. Our old car sped out the driveway, and it was so late at night. My 10 yr old feet were freezing as I trotted across the hardwood to the top of the stairs and opened the door. My uncle stood there at the bottom of the staircase as I started down. He stopped me. “Go back to bed, it’s okay. The baby is coming I think.” My Mom was 8 months pregnant. Back in my bedroom I began to softly cry; I was scared for Momma. Then Nana was there sitting next to me, rubbing my back “It’s okay Angie Sue. Momma’s fine, the baby is fine. You go back to sleep, Nana is right here.” As she slowly rubbed my back, her hand making those circles on my pajamas, I slept again. The next morning Momma and Daddy came home, still pregnant, to tell me that Nanna had died last night. That’s why Momma was crying.