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Loss of a family member narrative essay
Essays about loss
Personal narrative gretest loss
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Loss of a family member narrative essay
Essays about loss
Personal narrative gretest loss
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Recommended: Loss of a family member narrative essay
The only light came from the windows of the church, where candles were being lit. The coffin was taken outside and led into the dark vehicle, ready to be buried beneath feet of dirt and snow. It was a fearful journey down those steps and into the hearse. But in death, he wasn’t
A big white building with black carpet and musty off-white walls that had seen the faces of numerous patrons throughout the many years of funeral services. The air was thick with dust and their was an ominous presence that could be felt immediately upon entry to the room. It was almost as if the past ghosts of the previous funeral services clogged the air inside the room. Next to my uncle’s coffin were dozens of lovely bouquets, mementos, and photographs from a life of adventurous experiences. People came from all across Missouri, Nebraska, and New York to pay their respects.
My visit to the cemetery was very interesting. When I first read the assignment sheet, I didn’t want to visit the cemetery. I thought it was scary to visit a stranger; it turned out to be very fascinating. When I got to Kewanee Cemetery I got the goosebumps all over my body; six crows following me around, watching every step I took. After a while, I was more intrigued about the headstones that I even forgot about the crows.
My dad served in the United States Navy for 24 years. In the spring of 2009, my dad was deployed to Afghanistan. To be specific, he left on Sunday, April 5, 2009 at 5:00 in the morning. I woke up that morning, dreading what was about to happen. My dad had been with me all my life, to think that in a few short hours that my dad would be on a bus to the airport was heartbreaking.
Rows of tombstones stood alert in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some were crumbled with the overgrown weeds, some were smooth marble with new writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt. An upon the hill a new grave had been dug to await it
Growing mold and cracking signified the oldness of the stones. While in the cemetery I was very skittish because I was there alone, then I walked up to the church. Two large, brown doors tower down showing the entrance. As soon as I stepped in the doors a stale smell hits my nostrils reminding me of my great-grandmother’s. The creaking of the floors makes me jumpy, even though I should expect this.
When we got to my pine tree by my house she told me what happened and I remember smiling because I thought it was a joke at first because I was so young. Then I saw my mom walk out crying and I just remember crying a lot. He was buried in my backyard and I still visit his grave from time to time, but not too often because for some reason I still get super emotional and teary eyed. Lasty to get on a lighter subject I would like to revisit Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.
They told me she had a cancer that was called Multiple Myleoma, which would weaken her bones. But what devastated me even more was that she was already on stage 3 of her cancer. I did not want to believe the news. I just couldn’t accept it. I kept thinking “No, this can’t be happening to my grandma.
This is my story wen I was really little my brothers and I always played football. In the summer almost every day if we weren’t helping grandpa we were outside in the dirt plating football. We also played with our toys tractors building roads and fields and made little hay bales out of grass and twigs.
I have to throw away the books I’ve drank, so my dad won’t find them and ask what happened to the words. What would I say “I drank the words cause I’m and ink drinker.” I definitely couldn't tell my dad. My dad is one of those who believe that only God's creatures have the right to roam this earth. If you're not believed to be a creature of god a mob comes a chases you for days trying to kill you.
There’s a lot of lousy news a sixteen-year-old can get. Finding out your 86-year-old grandma is coming to live in your house is not so bad. But finding out she is going to share your already too small bedroom is right up there with discovering a zit on your forehead the morning of school pictures. To be fair, my grandma wasn’t jumping for joy either. She’d been living alone for more than twenty years and needed her personal space.
A few months ago, as my mother picked me up from school, she broke the news to me that my grandfather developed stage 4 lung cancer. Since my grandfather is one of the most important people in my life, hearing the news that he was soon passing away made me, and the people around me feel completely helpless. As my mom broke this horrible news to me, I shut myself from believing it. I find it quaint that my grandfather impacted my life in such a tremendous way. Although my grandfather was not biologically related to me, he taught me how giving up is never the solution to a problem.
“Grandma, don’t leave me!” cried Ruby Chen with tears running down her chubby cheeks. “Who will take me to the park now? Who will bake me egg tarts on the weekends?” “Ruby, sweetie, Grandma is going to a happy place. She won’t be in anymore pain” said Elizabeth Chen, her mother.
2When I think of my primary caregiver, I automatically think of my mother. When I look back at my childhood, both of my parents did a wonderful job at raising me but as most people do, I think of my mother as being the primary caregiver. 2My mother had a very abnormal childhood. She lost her mother at a very young age and was introduced to a new family a couple of years after her mom passed away and it was an adjustment for her.
On December 12th, 1996, the greatest day of my parents life happened. Their very first child was born and my grandparents first grandchild. I have a younger sister named Haleigh that just turned 16. I am learning more and more about myself the more I glance in the mirror and look back at my past.