Essay On My Birthday

Walking into the cemetery, I noticed that the night shined brighter than the day and the music was more alive than ever. I could hear the song, “Puno de Tierra” by Ramon Ayala, playing in the background and there were many families gathered around the graves of their loved ones. I could smell the fresh copal burning into the air and I noticed that my uncles tumba (tomb) looked cleaner than any other day. His grave was decorated with marigolds, candy skulls, pan de muertos, and white candles along with a few of his favorite foods and a portrait of him placed in the middle for everyone to see. Then, I suddenly open my eyes to see myself sitting down on a sofa from our living room, and in the background I heard my grandmother continuously repeating

The critical loss of an extremely close family member is detrimental to most. Individuals cannot evade death and reality always catches up to them. However, everyone has their own methods of subduing the weight of the inevitable loss within our lifetimes. Within George Bernard Shaw’s letter “She Would Have Enjoyed it”, regarding his mother and her cremation, his attitude shifts from ominous to light-hearted and nostalgic using key details, imagery, and diction in order to convey his feelings and cope with his loss.

On April 28, 2015 we took our yearly Portland, Oregon trip to pick up my sister from college. The day we departed Maui was coincidentally Rosaline’s special day, her birthday. It was hard as I left the island knowing that it was her birthday. Three days later on May 1, 2015 we were reunited with my sister, Danae, and on a road trip between Portland and Washington. The travel of funniest has ended. Jokes, laughs, smiles, they all came to a rapid halt. My grandmother, Rosaline’s daughter, accompanied us and suddenly received a phone call. The Maui Police Department called and said that my great grandma Deponte had passed away a few hours prior. No emotion came from my family and no tears left my eyes once we heard the devastating news; we were just completely shocked! At the time, she had been staying at an old folks home called “Roselani Place” in Kahului. Luckily, one of my family members in Maui was available and rushed down to be with her. Ballards Family Mortuary had been at Roselani, and gently held my petite grandma until my aunty Lesli Otani arrived.

Although different than the metaphorical graveyard of the Mississippi, the setting of the cemetery is similarly portrayed as a place of instability, as evident through the imagery of “the landscape blurred and waving.” The “weeds and grass” that have appeared around the gravesite adds to the apparent sense of constant change. The boundaries between nature and the human subjects present in the poem become increasingly dissolved by the fourth stanza: Trethewey tells of ants having “brought up soil [from the grave] of which [her mother] will be part” (Trethewey 43). Her mother, despite being laid to rest in the ground and becoming “part” of it, is nevertheless being “brought up” to the poet’s reality in a way makes it so that she is unable to properly mourn her

Yesterday, my father took me to the flat of Irene Williams. It was a beautiful little place, with big windows looking out upon the busy street. She had lace curtains, a small pink couch made of velvet, and a birch coffee table. On the table was a jar full of biscuits and a cup of tea, still hot. She had pictures of friends, family, and relatives hung up on her walls. It’s a shame I never got to meet Irene, she seems like such a lovely person to talk to. But Irene Williams is dead, and let’s face it, dead people are boring to talk to. They never listen.

During the current Easter break, I ventured to Denver, Colorado with two others. The day after our arrival, I broke away from the group for a short period of time to visit Riverside Cemetery. Peering through the cemetery’s aligned headstones as if they were rows of filled bookshelves, my pupils skimmed from one headstone to the next, searching for an appealing name to take home to investigate like it was a book to check out from the library.

“I need to visit her,” he said, leaving the recycle center and drove down the street. Arriving at the cemetery, Mr. Cassidy parked on the side of the road, walked down the pathway lined with tall tombstones and stopped at the one with Helen Cassidy’s name across the top. “Hello, sweetheart, I love you and wish you were here,” he said, sitting down on the grass beside the

As soon as we finished the job, my uncle went and sat in the front

The leather feels cold under my fingertips as I sit on our living room couch. My feet are propped up on the small coffee table, banging together lightly in boredom. Mom sits with me, our shoulders barely touching. It's only been twelve hours since I found Laura in the alley and the police already want to put us into protective custody. I don't want to go, but there is nothing tying me here anymore. Laura's gone.

“Okay. I’ll still have the poem memorized whenever I come back.” With that, I gathered my things and left. During the short trek to the office, however, I had an abrupt feeling of despair and anxiety. My thoughts switched over to Anderson, Indiana, where my father’s family lived. I can’t explain where the notion came from, I just knew that I was receiving serious vibes from Anderson.

Sister Muriel, who was also my grandmother, and who I affectionately referred to as granny, was a bit more tired than usual on the eve of December 10, 1958.  Slumber seemed to be calling early, so quietly heading toward the dorm seemed to be the best idea to take her tired body. As her feet climbed the stairs, she could feel the cool breeze against her face, and her body seemed to be a little more difficult going up these steep cement steps, there were so many of them. This evening seemed to encourage reflective thoughts, normally she had a smile for everyone, but tonight her mood a bit melancholy, but then again it could be she had a long day serving, or she missed her deceased husband, Merritt.  However, the quiet, evening allowed her to

Elizabeth weaved through the tall, thin trees as they quivered in the crisp wind. Finally, she had found the abandoned church where her twin sister Ophelia was buried. At least that’s what she assumed. It was the only cemetery in their old, isolated village. Her parents never spoke of her dead sister, but she always thought about her. Wondering what happened to her. Elizabeth was never given a real explanation as to where Ophelia was. Is she even dead? She slowly walked around towards the back end of the church. She had a very cold, unnerving feeling as the icy rain fell and the miserable clouds looked down on her. Elizabeth reached the graveyard filled with thousands of dirty, worn down graves. She strolled through countless rows of graves,

In the graveyard, I watch the ground fog climbing the ridges of Modjeska peak. Here, the fog dissipates as time unfurls its wings the color of the sun. I look at dad’s and John’s graves.

Never had the church been so crowded, but on this desolate event, for this bleak day belong to Dominique's funeral. The terrible announcement of her inexplicable and violent death, had flown reaching the region's farthest corners. Elevated in a manner, that allowed the congregation, a favorable overview, stood the child size wooden coffin. Covered with a black cloth, where a large emblematic silver cross, dimly shone, it was overlaid with a profusion of white lilies and roses. A magnificent, if mournful sight, it was.

The fear I held as a child that my body would become a vessel for other souls to enter was intensified. This was my first impression of my first time in a cemetery and I was not off to a good start. As I grabbed a map to find my way around, I began to dread the walk through the cemetery and having to see all the lives lost, especially those who lost their lives before they even really began. However, to my surprise, as I made my way through the graveyard this feeling of sadness slipped away. The sun began to shine through the clouds of gray and illuminated both the cemetery and my mood. I was delighted to notice that many of the tombstones I encountered read that these lives that were lost were not taken too soon. Most of the people had lived over eighty years and were buried next to fellow family members who also lived just as long. It was nice to see that many people were laid to rest next to family so they wouldn’t have to enter the next life