A Visit At The Beaverton High School Library Essay

mother died of lung cancer. After these devastating events took place, it was a phone call from her twin sister Becka, and knowing that therapy alone or coupled with AA weren’t enough to break her physical and emotional addiction with alcohol, that

It was a beautiful, cool July morning in the mountains of Colorado; the birds were chirping and the leaves on the trees were rustling. I could almost taste the bacon sizzling on the stovetop as my mother made breakfast. Nothing could ruin a perfect morning like this… At least that’s what I thought. Interrupting the cooking of breakfast, my mom’s cell phone strangely began to ring; there hadn’t been many people trying to contact my mom since she was on vacation. However, my mom ran to answer the call. “Oh, it’s your sister,” I heard my mom say. Although I was in a different room, I could hear the concern and worry in my mother’s voice moments after she answered the phone. Instantaneously, my heart began to race. I began feeling sick to my stomach

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

I need you home now.” This was my wakeup call and I knew that I had to hurry home. “I’m coming home now mom. I’ll be there in a bit. Everything is going to be alright.” Keeping my composure I went to the NHS president and told her that I had a family emergency and that I had to go. For some reason she was giving me a hard time about it but after seeing my eyes she asked if everything was alright. I just said I had to go and she finally let me go without asking anything further of me. I darted out of the cafeteria doors taking a right on the first floor hall way on the east side of the building and then a left I went through one of the schools entrances on 59th court. I live on the same street as the school just three miles away. At that moment I felt stranded. I did not have my “proper gear” to run it as fast as I could and at the time for some reason I did not bring my car to school. However, I knew I had to get home fast so I took off. As the cars passed me I lost myself in my head. I was not crying or even sad. I was unsure of how I should react. Then the thoughts of what if I never get to talk to him again ran through my head. That is when the tears started to pour down my cheeks as I continued to pant.

‘I don’t want to lose her,’ I kept repeating in my head trying to look strong for her. I was trying to not show how scared I was, trying to stop bursting into tears the second I saw her in the state she was. She was so weak and there was nothing I could do to help, except stay out of the doctor’s way. There were nurses and doctors rushing around and giving me a strange look until realization dawned on them. I was at the hospital with my mom around 10 at night, in my pajamas, wondering what was going to happen to her and if she was going to be okay.

I peek through the door to say goodbye to my grandma as I was on my way to cheer practice. As I observed her through the window I see her prepping her insulin, she lets out a small “ouch” as she inserts the needle. I watch her unable to help, I walk in give her hugs and kisses and run out to make it on time for cheer practice. I would practice on average five hours a day seven days a week since the age of three. Dedicated and passionate about cheer I thought I would never let it go. When I wasn’t spending time with my grandma trying to assist her or I was studying deeply to get into a good medical program, I was at cheer practice. While in the midst of studying and cheer, my grandma got really sick, I watched her helplessly depart. I wasn’t

It all started with our family sitting at the dinner table with my mom crying, holding crumpled up tissues with black streaks of mascara on it. My dad nervous enough to say, “Your mom has stage four breast cancer.” Those words have stuck in my head clear as a bell for the last eight years. Our faces of curiosity soon turned into fear. As an eight year old I didn’t understand a lot of words grownups said, but those burning words were sharp knifes on my throat.

On a dreary, stormy Friday morning, Connor’s voice was replaying over and over again, telling me, “It is going to be okay.” It took me back to Saturday morning, the first day of my vacation; I was sitting at the kitchen table with my family, drinking my morning coffee. I received a text from my best friend, Olivia, disclosing that our friend Connor had a brain aneurysm, was rushed to the hospital, and was on life-support. Connor also had bleeding on the occipital part of his brain, which normally is not a reassuring sign, but the doctors were optimistic, telling family and friends he would wake up tomorrow. That night, I continuously thought about Connor, telling him in my mind that he was not allowed to die. Sunday morning, I woke up to another text from Olivia, telling me the bleeding in Connor’s brain did not stop and he had been taken off life support. Connor officially passed away at 4 p.m. on Sunday,

Last December, I came home from practice to find my mother on the floor of the living room, hardly breathing. I dropped to her side, begging her to tell me what was wrong, and she whispered that she was having a heart attack. Upon hearing that, my actions became erratic; I was hyper-aware of my heart, of time, of the phone I could not keep still in my shaking hands as I called for help. After waiting in painful apprehension, two paramedics would walk in, put my mother on a stretcher, and carry her out. I would give them her prescription medicine and wrote down the name of the hospital she would be going to. Then, they would take her away, and I would be alone in a house of utter silence. Something about the silence allowed me to ruminate over

Yelling from the top of my lungs at the bottom of the staircase, demanding breakfast and the control to turn on my favorite morning cartoon, everything seemed to be normal. However, the world as I once knew it quickly took a turn for the worse. You see, being the youngest of five, I quickly learned that a quiet house isn’t a normal house. Therefore, as I huffed and puffed up the stairs, snarling because everyone was still nestled in their beds, something quickly caught my eye. My brother, Craig was on the floor rolling back and forth in agonizing pain, he was barely able to make a call for help. Suddenly, my parents were awakened from my screaming and they quickly called 9-1-1. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. It seemed like my family was crumbling before my eyes. Suddenly, as I began to lose hope, I looked out of my bedroom window to see my dad carrying my brother in his arms up the driveway. My heart sunk into my stomach because I always saw my brother as a strong, self-sufficient teenager who never accepted help from anyone. Eager to know what happened, my parents sat my three older siblings and myself on the couch and told us the news: Craig has Cancer. Cancer. That’s all I heard. That one word had the ability to weaken the mold that once held my family together for so many years. My family became frantic and then gradually we began to forget how

One Friday night, I was left alone with my mom. She looked like she had been hit by a train in the freezing cold weather. I was terrified. Finally, mom called the doctor. “I can’t do anything else for you, Mrs.Graham,” she said. That was when I had enough. Imagine instructing a nine-year-old to do a research paper on a new disease and everything that goes along with that disease: cures, medications, procedures, etc. I made up in my mind at that moment, that I would try to figure everything out. I researched, prayed, cried, and then one day, I came home from school to an ambulance at my house. The doctor called and informed my mother that she should go straight to the hospital for admittance, because she finally discovered the problem. Both of the Vagus nerves were accidently cut during a routine surgery for acid reflux, which resulted in paralysis of my mom’s stomach. So that was the new life. School, hospital, bedtime. School, hospital, bedtime. Every day.

It was the middle of June and I was ecstatic. School was out and I was ready for fun days in the pool, going to camp, and hanging out with friends. In the back of my mind I had something that really kept me from all of the fun I could have been having. I knew that my mom was dying. I knew that if I would have fun, I would feel guilty knowing that she couldn’t experience that with me. One would imagine that I would choose to spend time with my mom knowing that I wouldn’t have her for much longer. Being the selfish little seventh grader that I was, I chose to never be home. Whenever I found an opportunity, I left. I would hug my mom goodbye and leave as quickly as possible. Whenever I didn’t, I huddled in my room under the warm covers of my bed

My sister picked me up, and I hadn’t stopped bawling since I got the call. My heart ached. Like a child’s stomach after eating too much candy. I knew what was coming, and I wanted to find a way to make everything better, but I couldn’t. We both sat through the hour long car ride with very little conversation. I had a shirt of my Papa’s that I had brought, and I hugged it. When we arrived, I saw my mom and some close family members in the lobby, not where they would usually be. I was scared. I wondered if something happened that I missed while at practice. I wondered if I was too late. We waited for a while because the nurses cleaned him up from a bowel movement. After waiting, for what seemed like forever, we went back to the ICU. The cold, dry ICU that seemed to be filled with sadness. The minute I saw him, I busted into tears. Tears poured down my face like raindrops on a windowpane. I knew what was going to happen.

It was the beginning of June, I had just gotten out of school for summer break and I started to work all the time. My mom didn’t feel good for the past couple of days and she had told me she believed it was just a cold. As June 12th came around I knew something was wrong when in the early morning around six o’clock, my aunt ran into my room and frantically yelled, “Your mom needs you now!” Anxiousness overcame me because I knew she wasn’t feeling the best lately. I ran as fast as I could to my mom’s room and saw her in complete distress. I asked her what was wrong and she told me her leg, as I looked down not just her leg, but her foot too was swollen three times the normal size. Looking at her in so much pain she told me, barely above a whisper “I called your brother, he will be here soon.” At that moment, she was not going to be stubborn

It all happened one morning. It was a weird morning, one that I had never experienced like before. My regular mornings consisted of pure happiness and joy as I woke up to the bright warm feeling of the sun on my face and the beautiful sound of birds chirping as they tried to feed from the feeder outside my window. Unlike those mornings this morning was different. This morning felt cold. The sun didn 't come out and if it did, I didn’t notice it, but what I did notice was the sleepless dead stare expression drawn on my face. The TV turned on and as the lady spoke I couldn’t hear anything. She kept rambling about the news of the day and mention a topic which interested me, she talked about teenage depression. I don’t quite remember everything she said, but I do remember these words “you are not alone! There’s help!!” Little did I know those words would help guide me to what I was about to face. I was about to become a victim. A victim of teenage depression.