Descriptive Essay About My Father

When you think of losing a grandparent in your life, you think of them passing away. You dread the day you will get the call that they are sick. You then begin to cherish all the moments you have with them leading up to their passing. You have time to except their sickness, and come to terms with the outcome that is to come. My PopPop is not here anymore, but do not get confused, for he is alive. I did not have warning. I did not have time to cherish him. I did not have time to say goodbye. My PopPop was on no medication, which was almost uncanny for a 75-year-old. Trying to encompass everything he was boils down to a few things that may not seem like much to someone who didn’t know him. He went on a walk every night after dinner, and would whistle the same tune when he was happy. He played the same little ditty on the piano every time we were all in the living room. He was a simple man who could not harm a fly, and a good man. Unlike the grandchild warned when they are going to lose a grandparent, I did not have this notice. I did not have time to go on one last walk with him, and I did not have time to record him on the piano. I did not have time to replicate his whistling song, or to spend time with the man I knew. My PopPop was the heathiest man I knew, but then he got depression. First slowly, then all at once. The man I knew had slipped from my fingers without any chance to hold on tighter.

Many people have ways of influencing others. Most people use words to affect other people. An amount of individuals would utilize their gift of persuasion to convince others of their causes or maybe arguments, while some use authority to force people to do as they are told. These several differences can apply to fathers as well. Not all fathers are similar when it comes to educating their children. Many are gentle, while some are more dominant. Randy T Caldwell, a somewhat young spirited middle aged man. Dark skinned with black Gucci frames to accommodate his big brown eyes. Standing 5’11, board shoulders, happy, loving, man of

Yet, these parents have to accept that they will never be able to live their lives with or share their love openly with the child. So they must find ways to hold on to the memories. Many bereaved parents come to learn that "memories are the precious gifts of the heart...[that they need] these memories and whispers, to help create a sense of inner peace, a closeness" (Wisconsin Perspectives Newsletter, Spring 1989, 1).

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

An image of a young woman lying prone and sobbing inconsolably before the grave marker of her beloved at a veteran’s cemetery set me off big time. And, we’d better understand that this is only the tip of an emotional iceberg of deeply rooted grief that loved ones of fallen troops must somehow get through. It doesn’t go away. I still feel it after several decades. As I finish typing this, my eyes are trying to see through a wall of flowing water, a stark reminder that learning to live without our loved ones is not the same as forgetting them. As long as we live, we don’t forget… EVER!

Annoyed at this, I turned once again and lay on my back. I took a deep

When a loved when is gone it feels like a hole in the world. With much grief he says, “Never again will anyone inhabit the world the way he did. Questions I have can never now get answers. The world is emptier. My son is gone. Only a hole remains, Avoid, a gap, never to be filled”(33). This phrase describes his emotions and how he views the world without his son. The author gives advice on what to say to someone who is mourning. He says to never say its Ok because its never okay and death is awful. “ What I need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear from you that you are with me in my desperation” (34). When some passes away no one really knows what his or her loved ones are feeling because each death is unique and each person is different. The wisest of words don’t even make the pain go away, and all that can be done is lending an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on.

The sky and all its beautiful colors are all that were running through my mind. I didn't notice it then, but that was the last day we ever had those moments not only there but back home too. I never expect for him to leave, which was foolish. He found happiness in the bottom of a drink, how couldn't alcohol take him? I realize we're all trying to kill that pain somehow. I didn't imagine his death would take a hold of my life, but in a way it did. You see he was the only close death, I experienced in my 17 years, before him I didn't think death would ever influence me, for it was just a life check everyone check off eventually. I took his death as unexplained for so long, all I had angry and unresolved feelings and they controlled a part of my life. I know that pain will always be there, but my life couldn’t stop, I couldn’t let this unresolved grief influence me as my uncles did. Although death is a sad thing, you have must choose whether to let it destroy oneself or sharpen it. I’m still on the path of understanding how life is after the death, still I remember he loved us and he isn’t sadden anymore, and that gives me joy and keeps on

A Journey in Grief: A Mothers Experience Following the Death of her Daughter by Alice W. Terry describes how the loss of someone so dear to you is unimaginable. When I was thirteen I lost my grandmother. She had been sick for a long time; I remember going to visit her in the hospital many times before she passed. The death of my grandmother was my first and only personal experience with the loss of a family member. Although this reality makes it hard for me to relate to this article at a personal level, I am truly grateful for the health and well being of those closest to me. Only being thirteen at this time, I was old enough to comprehend what had happened but I had not been old enough to truly experience the sorrow of losing someone. When I lost my grandmother, all I remember doing is crying. Although I was expressing emotion and grieving her loss, I do not remember having a conversation about what happened. How was I feeling? What is going through my head? Looking back now, it is frustrating to accept the fact that no one truly knew how to comfort me.

It’s so still here, so quiet, so peaceful. I walked past rows of gravestones as I finally approached the site where my relatives lay. To many, visiting their relatives in a cemetery can be a sad experience; I however, was happy for them, because they still gathered together as they had before. I smiled as I remembered those times, when I was but a child and I could just barely see over the table. I could hear their talking and laughter again. How warm and familiar it all was! I remembered how laughter would erupt after my father told a good joke – he was always telling jokes. I could even smell the feast my mother and aunts would cook for us, and could almost feel them slapping my hand as I tried to sneak a piece of turkey before the meal. I remembered sitting at the smaller table with my cousins and siblings, feeling as if I were too old to sit at the kid's table. I remembered feeling left out, as if the adults kept some kind of grown-up secret from me. That same feeling I felt again, as I stood there seeing them all lying as they used to sit, in those two long rows. Although I had grown to be an adult, they still seemed to keep some secret from me, one that I was not to know of yet, one that I am not ready yet to

July 31 Midnight—It is always hard to bury your best friend, which is why I have begun this journal entry. The year is 2016; my best friend of 10 years is gone, and my depression has overtaken me. Unfortunately, we have to make hard choices about letting go of a close friend, and although it may hurt us, it is the right thing to do. I still remember the day that I had to lower his body down in to that 6-foot-deep hole; somehow, I feel as if he is still here, right beside me. Oh how I wish he was here, siting right beside me while I drink my nightly glass of red wine. It has now been two weeks since he has been gone, and I have had little rest, but I have slept more than usual

Have you ever had a hero in your life, someone that is always there for you when you need them? I did, I called him "my dad." My dad was the only person that could make me laugh when I was feeling down. My dad was that person who had so much love for his family. My dad was the person who I could call and he'd always pick up. My dad was the person who would drop everything just to help me. My dad was the biggest hero in my life and to this day, still is.

Most people live in houses with a strong family. Most people live in a house with a rotary dial. Most people ride down the streets in their colorful vintage cars. But me, Jenn Johnson, I live on a large old red farm with my mother, chicken and cows, that I like to call my fellow friends. I wake up in the morning, feed the chicken and cows, and yodel my favorite lullabies, such as “Baby Mine” by Bette Midler. I love many things, but there is nothing I cherish more than my mother. My mother and I keep each other stable with food, and clothes, since my father, Keith, passed away from an illness. I will always remember the gleam in his eyes, his strong scent of cigarettes, and of course his sense of humor. He would do funny dances, dress up

My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.

At the age of six, most kids go to Disneyland; I, on the other hand, was about to cross the border. I am one of the millions who had to go through this situation. The month of August was about to end, but in my life, a whole new journey was about to begin. It was 2004 I was with my grandpa he hugs me while we are talking I felt his love towards me in his big warm hands that were wrapped around my shoulder, home is where I was. Little did I know that I won’t be seeing my Abuelo and Abuela for the next 13 years. They hugged me one last time and my grandpa gave me this necklace: brown, yarn and handmade. He says “Mija, no te quites este collar para nada, Nosotros Siempre Vamos estar con tigo, en las buenas y en las malas.” (Honey, do not