Eulogy Story Essay

“Tuesdays with Morrie” and “The Death of Ivan Ilych” both portray a character who is dealing with a serious terminal illness and advance knowledge of their deaths. One story is based on the realistic life of an American professor with the story’s characteristics tone from the 1990’s while the other is set during nineteenth century Russia. Even though Morrie Schwartz and Ivan Ilych both suffered from the illness, their dissimilar lifestyles and beliefs led to different perspective on facing death. One views the knowledge as a blessing and an opportunity to share his life experiences before making his final good-byes, the other agonizes in pain and begs for an

I had been cringing about day for so long. I was completely terrified to go into that room. As the door opened I was exposed to a cold draft and I could feel the dense air. The day I was told this needed to be done was horrifying, and now it’s actually happening. They rolled me over to a new bed and I looked around seeing doctors everywhere. There was a table that they rolled next to me and on it was things that I can’t even explain. They put a green mask on me with tubes going through both sides of it. They told me I’d get drowsy and all of the sudden I closed my eyes and it was happening. I was getting knee surgery.

I fought the thoughts of not being able to breathe and allowing myself to have a panic attack. I have never been very religious, but it got to a point where counting didn’t help and the moment that destroyed my health replayed over and over. It was the few seconds prior to blacking out, to when I looked up at my rearview mirror and saw a truck coming right for me because he fell asleep. These thirty minutes of darkness symbolized the endless emotional and physical pain I had endured and my return to the darkness, which I cannot explain. So I prayed, hoping that even though I couldn’t remember all the verses, it would end the spinning and the torture. These moments of fear were more than claustrophobia; it was also a concoction of sadness. Sadness, that uncovered my weak and fragile human being self to the world because I had still not healed. As these thoughts deepened, the bed of the MRI machine began to move outward and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realized that my body was trembling until they took the thick white sheet off me. It revealed my shaking legs covered in Goosebumps and so, I pulled my fuzzy green socks up and with their help got off the bed. I wondered if that’s what it was like to live through a traumatic event or was it me being dramatic? Either way, I shut the door leaving the loud and terrible noises behind me. As I walked out, I could never see myself laying in that room again, unable to escape the endless

You can’t remember your seizures but are told you froth at the mouth and yell obscenities. You can usually feel a seizure coming before it arrives. The seizures began two years ago, shortly after your older brother drowned in the river just south of the Bennington Avenue Bridge. He was swimming drunk after a football tailgate. You and he worked at the same mini-golf course. These days you don’t work at all. These days you don’t do much. You’re afraid of having a seizure in public. No doctor has been able to help you. Your brother’s name was Will.

When I regained consciousness, I tried to open my eyes to check my surroundings. However, being so long in darkness, I could hardly see anything. By the stench and the "beep... beep... beep..." sound around me, I knew where I was. A while later, my eyes got used to the bright light and could see much more clearly. The first thing I saw was a doctor looking into my eyes very closely. When I moaned at him, he backed up and smiled. " You will be fine. Just a little painful; doesn't bother too much," he said. Then he turned to my mother, and they chatted for a while. Before he left the room, he turned to me again, "Rest some more." He smiled again and closed the door. His smile was so warm, but not as warm as my mother's. My mother walked up to me, and she pulled a chair and sat down. I was too afraid to look into her eyes; she would be so disappointed because I crashed the brand new car. It seemed like my head weighted 20 kilograms, and I could not pull it up. I

The concept and belief of honor in the Columbian culture in Chronicle of a Death Foretold is one of the deciding aspects of the character's actions, motives, and beliefs. Nobody questions the actions taken to preserve ones honor because it is such an important moral trait that one must cherish. In this society a man or woman without honor is an outcast to the community and to the culture. In Chronicle of a Death Foretold two twin brothers are burdened with defending this tradition of honor. The brothers find out that their sister has lost her virginity before marriage and she claims that Santiago Nasar is to blame. To regain the honor of their sister, and their family the brothers believe it is their duty to kill Santiago Nasar. Could such

One night after writing a history paper, I was so tired I went to bed without eating. Around two in the morning I woke up scared for my life. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my head was spinning, my whole body was shaking, and I knew my blood sugar was horribly low. Getting out of bed, I went to my fridge to get something to eat. The next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital bed with both of my parents looking at me. I had been informed that I slipped into a coma for a day and I was lucky to be alive. My heart had also stopped beating when they found me. My only thoughts were that I had missed a day of classes.

I began convulsions as my brain was trying to stimulate my lungs to get more air. My eyes began to close and it was extremely hard to open them and keep them open. I soon started seeing black surrounding my eyes and everyone became a blur. I was not able to respond to anyone because I could not get enough air to both breathe and talk. I could hear their questions like “Mariah, can you hear me?” or “Hello. Mariah. I need you to respond.” I felt quite scared because I was trying my hardest, but nothing was coming out. The lady said my oxygen level was 58 and I was near respiratory failure, so I needed to get to the hospital. I began to become very nervous and uneasy. All I could see was black and my body could not stop shaking. The paramedics were in serious mode because due to my unresponsiveness and uncontrollable shaking they assumed I was having a small seizure. I got into the ambulance and they put an oxygen mask, which helped me breathe more than I could imagine. Once I arrived at the hospital they took me back to a room and gave me an oral steroid and a nebulizer treatment. This immediately

The story “A Bag of Oranges” by Spiro Athanas tells about a poor family lived in the rotting slum and the boy in this family became a mature person from a childish kid. Because the boy’s father needs to pay his responsibility to his family and the people who he loved, so his rude behavior and act makes his son hate him for a short time. After the boy notice his family’s financial situation, then he realize it’s not easy be an adult to making life run in the society, and you would lose some important things while you are paying responsibility to your family, so he begin understand his father. When the boy know his father hit by a car, all his emotion spew out and make his act like an adult in the end of the

I would like to start by thanking Desdemona’s family who have travelled from Venice to be here today, and to all her loyal friends here in Cyprus for your unwavering support during this difficult time.

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

During the 19th century many writers began to publish works with sentimental plots. Generally the sentimental plot is written to make the reader feel an excess of unnecessary emotions, by overemphasizing every work. In every sentimental plot there will always be the typical sentimental hereon that fits the stereotype of a young orphan, unmarried women with moral obstacles. In this plot there are only two types of women the ones that are considered good and the ones that are bad. In the sentimental plot the good will get rewarded by marrying a decent man and the bad will always die. Even though this plot was very popular among writers many women were not happy with how the women were being portrayed among men writers so they decided to go

On July 31st around 12:30am my parents, siblings, cousins, and aunt were driving home from watching two movies at a drive-in-movie theater. We had met up with my other cousins, aunt, and uncle so we could all spend time together while my aunt and other cousins were in Ohio. I had just fallen asleep five minutes away from home when I started seizing. That is when I heard my aunt yell “Call 911!” and my mom yell to my dad who was driving to pull over. Within a few moments I had stopped seizing. I later found out my mom had

It started with a chill, each vertebrae vibrating one by one up my spine. Then the heat, my face flush and palms clammy. I could never keep up with my breathing, for it seemed as though each time I breathed out, I needed more air almost immediately. Soon, my mind was flooded with unsettling images, a new one appearing nearly every second, each worse than the last. Everything that I found comfort in was now an enemy. When will this end? My body could not keep up with the trembles and I could not resist the urge to scream. Was this room always so small? My eyes grew indecisive, darting across the room, until the capillaries within them bulged so greatly that I clenched my eyelids shut. Then, a long, deep breath.

now. The only thing I can do now is pray and hope. To pray that I will