Personal Narrative: The Holy Cross Hospital

It was a chilly day on March 6, 2007. Me and my family were on 495 going to the Holy Cross Hospital with a slight delay of traffic. For some reason, I kept fiddling with my fingers, I was really nervous to see him. We took the exit 31A and we all shifted to the left since it was a sharp turn to the right. My big sister, Maisie, was on my shoulder and we shifted her head fell on my lap. She woke up and asked where we were. “We are almost there Maisie” my Dad said. We stopped at the traffic light and I fiddled with my fingers some more. “Stop fiddling with your fingers!” Maisie whispered to me. In my head, I say “I can’t, he is the first boy of the family, the first! Besides me!” I stopped fiddling and looked at the huge structure in front of me, The Holy Cross Hospital.
He was younger than me but old enough to understand the difference between right or wrong. The dream was me and him in a place full of light and happiness, a place where only happiness, fun and teachings existed. I woke up smiling, prepared for the day that I would meet him. In the car, I fell asleep and dreamed some more. Since I had a sister at the time, and my mom was pregnant for another girl, I dreamed of a brother. Playing with a me at everything, sports, video games, art, drawing, and even talking (which little kids don’t like to do). I was happy that I would have a