At nine years old my sisters and I were taken away from our mother and placed into foster care for the fourth and final time. When the police showed up at our house and told us to pack what we could into our trash bags, this was not new. We knew the drill and the dreadful feeling that came with leaving what we were used to. I think the two of them were just as comfortable in the chaos as I was. We were comfortable with stealing dinner from the corner grocery store to eat and rummaging through the neighborhood dumpsters when we wore holes in our shoes. We knew…