Descriptive Essay : ' Goodbye Dad '

On this day I didn’t wake up at precisely 5:00am, but rather slept in. When I did awaken, I rushed to the kitchen, bellowing, “My alarm didn’t go off.” Marla, my mother greeted me with her calm, maternal voice professing, “Yes I know, I unplugged it last night.” As she told me to sit down, across from my father, I saw distraught in his eyes. They sat me down, and told me that I would have to transfer schools next year due to the detrimental economic toll my father’s cancer treatment had upon us.

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

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

My father’s presence was the only thing that stopped me.... He was running at my side, out of breath, at the end of his strength, at his wit’s end. I had no right to let myself die. What would he do without me? I was his only support.”

“This is an extremely painful and uncomfortable book. The author's father committed suicide when she was only 13 years old, leaving behind a wife and four children. Obviously, the struggle to go on with life, to find joy again, wasn't easy. The author writes to her dad as a way to heal, wondering if he can hear her words from wherever he is. She wisely understands that she will never truly know why he committed suicide but she also knows that she was irrevocably transformed by this act.

Even six year old me could see the great suffering my father experienced not only mentally but physically. I recall once walking in the bathroom and seeing my father vomit, it was the first time I seen him so vulnerable. I could see the pain in his eyes. It was our third month in the united states and my father could not find a job, it was killing him. He was considering a job as a dishwasher to support his family, for that I could never repay him. A sprinkle of hope glimmered in our dark world when my dad got a job as a dispatcher at a local Airport, when I look back now I wonder if father ever felt disappointed that his hard nights of studying in college was futile, if he know that he would have to give up his career to support his family. Soon we moved out of my aunt and uncle’s how’s into a small one bedroom apartment in a sketchy neighborhood. By that time my mother has lost a total of thirty pounds. The once vibrant and sociable women was always tired, she often made called relatives back home which resulted in her crying for hours. My father would often cook and clean, it was fascinating to see my dad performing these tasks

We walk back to the shelters to get some sleep, and I sit there awake for a minute until my father falls asleep. In the morning when I awake, my father is very sick, so I take him to the doctor. The doctor rejects to help because he is a surgeon. I take my father back to the shelter to let him rest some more. I leave him to go outside to get more coffee. I think back to all the things me and my father have been through. Losing my mother and sister will always reply through my head, remembering them holding hands and moving off to the left, and my father holding onto my hand, and we walking away from them. The last thing I got to do was just look into there eyes and turn and walk away. Once I got back I found my father not there. I knew where he had gone, they had taken him to the furnace. I dropped to the floor wanting to cry, wanting to have a fit like a normal teenager. Deep into his feelings he thought “Free at last.” He was free to only think about surviving, and not to worry about anyone but himself. I will miss my father. I love him. I will never forget how much he did for me, he is the reason why I am still

I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.

I was walking to my house after a long day of school. All day I was waiting for this moment; To see my dog. I walked inside. I saw my dad, which was strange because he was never home. I look around. There was an empty dog bed, covered in brownish-red fur. My sister’s head was in her hands, she was shaking uncontrollably. I turn towards my dad, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow. I set my backpack down and search for my companion. Being the insensitive and ignorant child I was, I ask, “ Where’s Duke?”. My dad glanced at me making direct contact. The words I was about to absorb , were almost deadpan. He replied monotonously, “ He’s gone.”. The only word that can explain how I was feeling was numb. I hadn’t realized the stumble backwards into the wall, or the tears shed, not even the comfort I was trying to be given. Though I thought that this was going

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s

The air felt ominous. The clouds were brewing. A storm was coming. The sunlight that once shunned evil was engulfed by darkness. Crows encircled the sky as they engulfed their craws with it. I was called for dinner. I lifted my head to find a fraction of sunlight caress my forehead. Its strength fades away as the day quickly becomes night. Again, I was called for dinner.

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.

As I watched my house crumbled into a million pieces, my legs started to quiver to the point where I could no longer stand on my own two feet. Everything… everything I’d ever loved was inside: my diary, my family photos, my childhood memories. I couldn’t take the pain any more so I began to thrash around the frozen, forlorn floor like a fish on a hook. As my pupils rolled back, flashbacks rolled in. The picture of a child lying in bed while her parents read her a bedtime story replayed in my mind. Images of a primary school girl showing her parents the pictures she drew of them, as a family, wouldn’t fade away. All those memories…now gone. Forever.

Getting out of mom’s Ford Ranger, I close the door a bit too heavy handed. When it slams forcefully, I cringe as I move toward the house. I am extra tired tonight after pulling double shift at the Inferno Recycling Center. It’s getting old that I always seem to be the one covering Chelsea’s shifts. This is the third time she has called in sick this week. There being virtually no other jobs in town, I have no choice then to suck it up. I was going to College to become a Special Effects Make-Up Artist. Since momma became sick three months ago, the only option I had was to drop out. There is no one else who can care for her except me. My beloved brother Eli died in a motorcycle accident nine years ago. He was twenty at the time. It was my eighth birthday the

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.