Creative Writing: I Am Kisielnicki '

(Rusesabagina 137). Itʼs hard to reach out in so many different areas, but itʼs also hard

Life has fared well since Gaea and I have lived in this house. There are now others in houses surrounding us. These are my friends that I returned to rescue, International 4-8818 being one of them. He is now called Apollo. We are happy here, all of us. The others are learning, albeit rather slowly, yet they learn to say I instead of we. It is my hope that, before my first child is born, they will all say I so that he or she may only know this and not the cursed we.

Let this incantatory serve as the goetic book of mournful prayer. As these words were written are

The grieving that individuals experience with death is unique, but the main stages are universal across cultures (Axelrod, 2017). There are five stages of grief. Nicolas Wolterstorff’s story, Lament for a Son, addresses these five stages as he tries to find joy after the loss of his son. The meaning and significance of death in light of the Christian narrative is also addressed in the story. Having a hope of the resurrection can help comfort individuals in situations similar to Wolterstorff (Wolterstorff, 1978).

"My Grandparents, My Parents and Me." My Grandparents My Parents, Mis Abuelos Mis Padres, Frida Kahlo, C0160. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May

If you’re reading this then obviously I’m dead. If you’re reading this then I’m already home. How or why I’m dead I haven’t a clue. But most likely it was for a good cause or an accident. All I know is that, if it wasn’t caused by too severe of injuries, then somehow I saved someone elses life. And either that’s how I died by saving lives or I died and saved lives with my organs. If that’s how I died then it was worth it. That’s what I feel my purpose was fullfilled. So therefore, there is no crying. Only happyness for what I accomplished. Looks like I only got a one way ticket over here to my real home. Sure wish I could give you one more kiss. I'm up here with God and we're both watching over you. Stand up for the innocent and weak. Tell dad I don't regret the decisions I’ve made.

I received the news, that my mother had no chance to live and one doctor, placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed loudly with discomfort. He said,” she is not a candidate for any treatment.” I stormed into the ICU room, and held my mother’s hand; she glared at me, unconsciously. I couldn't help but hold back my emotions, so I could be strong for our family. As my eyes were helplessly filling up with tears, I couldn't help but to look around at the doctors and nurses working diligently, and doing the best they could for my mother. At the moment, I remembered the sacrifices that were made to help my mother and how saving lives was my calling from God. Thankfully, my mother survives but only at a twenty percent ejection

Death is the point that marks the end of a human’s life. When confronting the death, passively or actively, people usually have a different viewpoint from before and that assertion is proved in Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande, Wit by Margaret Edson and the last pages of The Stitches by David Small.

I must have been through all the stages of grief before I accepted my lifelong friend could die. It was hard to understand and it puzzled me; Why, out of the seven billion who inhabit this planet, would this happen to him? My life had been torn apart and turned upside down in the matter of an hour, from when I was awoken by the unexpected sharp thuds of knocking on the door, to me in the ambulance, praying like I had never before.

Thinking in my head, trying to stop crying is hard. Also all is going through my head is that this is the last time i will ever see my cousin’s body and his face in person again. In the silence of the church you can hear all the tears and running noses. From the church we go to where he is going to buried. Hundreds of cars in a line going down the highway. We get there and there is cars wrapped around the whole cemetery. We all say our last

The house wasn’t flourishing with the usual life and laughter of my faithful friends and family, but dead with their mournful sorrow. “Poor little Opal Parks”, they would all cry out. The oncologist called with some tremendous news. Brain Surgery would be outrageously unaffordable for a hopeless, poverty-stricken single mother like myself. Nevertheless, my tumor would soon force my body to expire. Most likely, the least of their concerns is what happens to my 11 year old son, Lucas. Funny actually, that this has become my greatest concern. It is not the physical pain, but the psychological self-condemnation felt when you know that your own life is soon to end and that not only yourself, but those around you will be harshly impacted by your

Four years later his beloved brother got scarlet fever and died, leaving just he and his father, “a motherless only child”. Through the short eight years of spiritual guidance from his mother and his father’s strong example of a faith filled prayer life, he learned to cling to God through Prayer in the scriptures and the Mass. He developed a close trusting relationship with God, the father. His supernatural spirit was so strong that when his third grade teacher told him his mother died, he responded, “It is God’s will”. When he was 18, he wrote a poem that would show his grief from missing her. ‘” So many years without you,” he mourned’. He excelled at everything he did, including academics, sports and theater. Then, in 1939 with the Nazi invasion and World War II brought horrific sadness to the country with many dear Jewish and Catholic friends taken to concentration camps. Schools, churches, seminaries and anything that appeared as a threat to the communist regime were closed. One day in 1941, Karol came home to find his dad dead. Feeling alone and the loss of all the people he loved,

On July 10th, 2015 heaven gained one of the most fiercest angels ever. My grandmother may have left me physically, but I feel her presence more than ever before. This year has been difficult for me, but to be honest these last four years have been quite difficult for me. The person I loved the most had Alzheimer’s and couldn't be there for me. I lost an Aunt, Uncle, and the love of my life, My Grandmother. As a child she always told me “Honey, I pray the Lord keeps me to see you graduate from High school”. By the time my graduation came, she wasn’t able to talk or walk. Even though she couldn't tell me how she felt, after I left her nurses told me that she cried. That lets me know we’re connected on another level,

The tears swelled in my eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Everything is alright. Then came the burning in my throat, and my chest tightened. Almost as if I swallowed a stone and there are only limited breathes before I’d find myself in a casket. A pounding had formed in my head, an ongoing bang as if I was a nail that was getting hammered into the wall. I was given a flower to put next to him in the casket. The same bright flowers at the graveyard. It is different; this is my grandfather. He cannot be gone, he isn’t gone. I am not ready to let go just yet. I was still holding on to his hand so tightly.

September 8, 2013 I spend the day at Whitehorse General Hospital, knowing that in a few short hours I will have to say goodbye to my dad, possibly for the last time. The doctor keeps telling us he is close to dying, it is clear to see. He cannot speak, open his eyes or eat, he lays there near lifeless. His body is withering away. I sit with him and talk to him, hoping that he can hear me. I want him to squeeze my hand and let me know he can hear me. I cannot stop crying. I have no desire to eat, food doesn’t taste good. I am anxious knowing I have to leave, my body is tired from many late nights, little sleep and four days of crying. I have to say goodbye to my dad, I scan the room, it smells of sanitizer and sweat. I hold my dads hand, I kiss him on his forehead, his body is motionless, it feels clammy and cold. His eyes are closed and sunken into his face, his lips parted as he breathes softly, inaudibly. I barely recognize him. I touch his face, it still holds life, even though he is not present I can still feel his love. My tears cloud my vision as I move in closer and put my forehead to his. I whisper “I love you dad, and I will never forget you. If you are ready to go you have my permission. I do not want to see you suffer any longer”. I lay there like this for a few minutes, my tears falling onto his face. I