A Life Journey Without God

In the fall of 2012, my mother almost succumbed to her illness. I had just begun my freshman year of high school midst angry conversations between my parents and the threat of separation. It would seem as if they bickered about the most irrelevant things, almost as if they had no other reason to fight other than the fight itself. Those moments were excruciatingly lonely, my father worked until the dead of night and my mother would come home exhausted from treatment. I now know that there was no one who felt more unvalued than my mother. I wish I had the ability to iron away this blunder that destiny had fabricated, however foolish this desire is.

In October of 2012 my son was born. I put my plans on hold and focused on providing for him. I wanted him to have everything I had as a child. My mother worked day and night when I was younger. I can still remember holidays where she'd wake up at the crack of dawn just to prepare a full feast and go to work that afternoon. I knew the importance of sacrifice and hardwork. I also wanted my son to experience the chance to have his father around. I wanted it so bad that I endured two long years of mental and

On May 11th 2013, my grandma passed away due to pancreatic cancer. A little later that year on September 25th, my mom received a call from my aunt in Guam that my dad had passed away in his sleep. Then on May 14th 2014, my grandpa passed from complications of an allergic reaction to a medication. So within a year, I was left to deal with three immediate family deaths, one right after another. Losing such important figures in one’s life could leave someone depressed and unmotivated to move on with their own life and to rise above those challenges is difficult, yet possible. During this time of hardship, I grew discouraged and saddened, but over time I became motivated to set aside these struggles and make a change.

Finally, a personal struggle that happened in my life was what happened with my mother’s friend, Lynzee. Lynzee had six children, four girls and two boys. She really wanted to have another addition to her family. So, when she found out that she was pregnant with a baby girl she was filled with joy. Sadly, her baby was born too early and was fighting for her survival. Her first name was Violet and her middle name was Hope. Violet fought hard and long for her life, but her body was just too weak. She ended up passing away two years after her birth. Lynzee and her family were devastated at the loss of their family member. She overcame this difficult struggle by being with her family and looking on the

I was 33 years old on November 9th, 2000. My family was made of myself, my husband, Doug, my daughter, Haley, and our dog, Josie. Haley was only 2 years and 9 months old at the time of the birth of her new baby brother, but I wasn’t quite sure how she would handle not having all of the attention. I could tell something was off from the moment I woke up that day. To start, Haley wouldn’t stop crying from the moment she woke up. As for me, I was feeling sick, and was having a few contractions here and there. I was packing my things for the hospital because I was scheduled to have a C-section November 10th. Afternoon came and my condition was getting worse and worse, things got so bad that Doug and I decided we should go to the hospital. I was mortified because I just needed the baby to wait a couple more hours. I could not have this baby come out of the birth canal, my

On the 23rd of January in the year 2003, at around 1:00 in the afternoon at Kaiser Permanente San Francisco, I was born into the world. My parents, Frederick Torres Nangca and Rowena Aldana Nangca, and I first settled in my grandparent’s studio as a child. The space was small but open for the most part. From what I remember, the wall that was on the same side as the door had a drawer beneath the television where they kept most of their belongings. Just across from that was a blue couch that they had pushed up against the ten windowed wall. Next to the couch was a smaller beige dresser that held my grandfather’s extra clothes along with a few of my grandmother’s accessories. My grandmother and grandfather often held novenas and parties in honor of God.

I remember thinking about how fortunate I was for having none of my family members to die from cancer. It was just another late night of working hard in the laboratory trying to find something. It was precisely 10 o’clock at night where I had never felt so accomplished. I had finally done it, I found the cure to cancer. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes when I had been reading the chart, but when I gave the antibodies to cancer patients their symptoms left and their cancer had been cured. I was 35 when I had found the cure and I lived in Iowa City, which is where I met my wife. I called my wife, Selena, and told her about my discovery and she started crying. It was a different type of cry..no it wasn’t tears from joy, it was tears from sadness. I asked Selena why she was crying. That day was never forgotten, not because of my discovery, but of the news that my wife told me. Our son passed away that afternoon from Lung Cancer. I was devastated. I went into a deep depression and I kept asking myself, “why couldn’t you have found the cancer just a couple hours earlier.” My story was all over the news, for awhile I never cared about anything but my son. I had received an extremely high number of money. I didn’t care about money anymore. I gave over half of it to people who needed it more than I did. I didn’t feel like doing interviews until about 6 months after his death. I learned something from my experience, In order to achieve your goal, sacrifices will need to be made. I found the cure to the most deadliest thing in the world but I had lost my most prized

On January 5, 2009 my father pasted away. He and I did not have the typical father-son relationship; we did not have a relationship at all. I presumed that it would have a little if any affect on me. However, as the semester continued, it seemed to get worse. Besides my father’s passing, several weeks later my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. It was difficult for me to deal with, but it was more difficult for my mother to handle.

“What the hell do you mean he moved away 4 months ago?” I yelled at my mother and she shushed me. “Babe, it’s important to keep calm at this time during the pregnancy.” She said as she took me back inside. I didn’t care but I did care at the same time. This was my only child, it was a miracle I had even kept this child and not had a miscarriage. This baby kept me alive, and in return i kept her alive.

Our days thrived with a beautiful devotion for goodness that made them worth remembering for a lifetime; however, this was not always the case. By the time my grandmother turned 24 years old, lack of funding forced her to illegally abort eight children due to Romania’s strict communist regime. Her ninth baby, however, she kept. Even though my grandmother desperately desired a boy, my mother stood as the only child in the family. In on April 12th, 1998 when I took my first breath, my grandmother’s wish came true. From that moment onwards, she raised me as her own baby

When I turned 11-years-old my whole childhood began to change my life went from being perfect to everything but perfect. One day I came home to hear the news my father, my best friend; my hero was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. Not knowing the struggle my family was about to take on I just began to cry. I had a million things running through my head what’s going to happen? Will everything be okay? Why him? What is going to happen? With all these things rushing through my head all I could do was cry not knowing this was least worse to come.

His thoughts, his hopes, his memories; it was difficult to believe that they had vanished. Later on that year, I asked one of my friends how she knew that God existed. She replied that she simply knew he was there, and had always been told that he was real. By her expression, it was obvious that she had never been asked that before, but she was so confident in her response that I couldn't help but want her to be right. My lack of guidance in religion left me unbiased in the realization that no matter how much I may desire to know if God is really there, I will never find out. Faith is hope in its highest form, and I started to understand that not-knowing is incredibly freeing. That absence of restraint isn’t limited to religious freedom. My lack of knowledge on what is and what will be allows me to follow my true passions and interests. I have no idea what will happen when my life ends, so in the meantime it seems worthwhile to do what I love, which is writing. Writing allows me to create worlds with never ending mysteries and beautiful, impossible realities. I began to write down my ideas on any piece of paper within grabbing

Although I gained the knowledge to be a more stable and positive individual, something was still missing in my life. The missing piece soon fell into place upon the birth of my twin boys, Irijah and Isaac. A multiple birth was a miracle within itself. It seemed unreal because no one in my family was ever blessed with two babies. Although it took a lot of adjustment, we made it through the baby period. The hard part did not come until they became toddlers. (During this time), I noticed complications (in the development) (of the twins). I soon learned that although they were perfect on the outside my boys were suffering with autism. Irijah is severely autistic while Isaac’s is mild. I knew that in order to conquer this obstacle, changes would have to be made. In the beginning I was unaware of what needed to be done, but I never gave up. I continue to fight for my boys and struggle to keep my sanity. This has been the toughest fight of my life because it involves a series of changes. These changes dealt with acceptance, transition, and adaptation. These were necessary steps because it gives the boys a chance to lead a somewhat normal life. Through the love of my sons, I have learned to adapt to change and have gained strength and perseverance that is necessary in life.

To this day, I can still remember standing at the end of my driveway watching my mother arrive home from the bus stop. This day was different; she was not coming home empty handed. In fact, she had stopped at a yard sale on the way home and bought a prize for me, a doll named Suzy. This memory, from the age of two, embraces the story of my mother and my entire childhood. In Indianapolis, Indiana in September 1980, I was born to a single mother. Throughout her life, she worked for the phone company in downtown Indianapolis. Even though she raised us through hardships and despair, she always took the time to love my brother and me outwardly. Until second grade, I have no recollection of my father visiting more than three occasions. At last, in fourth grade we began to spend weekends at his house and with his family. Sadly, when I was eleven we learned that my father had cancer. One week before Christmas, after a school music program, I read his obituary in the paper and told my mother he had passed away. From that moment, our family forever changed, specifically my relationship with my mother.

In 2013, my mother was very ill and had to travel interstate for life saving treatment. It was a very long year, and it forced the development of my independence and self-direction, given my family’s focus on my Mum’s illness.