How To Write An Alternate Ending To Papa's Death

mother died of lung cancer. After these devastating events took place, it was a phone call from her twin sister Becka, and knowing that therapy alone or coupled with AA weren’t enough to break her physical and emotional addiction with alcohol, that

I spent most of the morning stuck in my thoughts, why was I not grieving my parent's death? Why had I never noticed I was supernatural? Dominating most of my thoughts, did I have feelings for Jordan, my brother's best friend?

As I looked up, the sky was dark the sidewalk illuminated by the streetlights. The sound of crickets and cars echoing through my ears. I walked home that night, tears in my eyes. I was leaving, I couldn’t handle it anymore. The meds, doctors, psychiatrists nothing was working, our lives were in constant danger. By the time I got home the car was gone. By the time, I finished packing it was dawn. The sun creeping in through the shutters. For the next couple of days, I crashed at Jason’s before I headed South. I heard my cell ringing, it was mom… I let it go to voicemail.

I remember waking up that day and that feeling in my stomach, knowing what was about to happen. Growing up I knew about my father's sickness. My family, I recall, was always supportive. No one ever thinks about how one day, everyone you’re around for years, can just vanish. I cherished my friends as I was growing up. I lived there for a majority of my life, up until fourth grade. I remember sitting at a neighbor's house and having the mother come into the room and inform me that I need to be home swiftly. As I ran home, my head was crowded with thoughts to the point where I could not even think about why I was supposed to be home quickly. That day marked the transition of what would be the biggest change in my life. As by dad became sicker,

“I don’t feel so well” Jan’s father had suddenly said one morning at breakfast. Her father, a World War II veteran, stood up and went to go lie down. The rest of the family continued with their day. Michael went to see how his father was. When he tried to wake him his father didn’t respond or make a sound. The 11 year old boy was the one who first knew that his father was gone. The memory of her father’s loss is vivid in Jan’s mind. It was a substantial shock after he had survived the horrors of World War II and then just passed away quietly at home one morning. Jan now understands how

Papa believed that death was something that was earned after a long, deserving life. He worked hard to keep the boy alive, and to hurt as few people in the process. As Papa dies, he feels more as if he is joining a dream world, then actually dying. McCarthy uses strong imagery to describe most of Papa’s last day. “The boy sat by the fire wrapped in a blanket watching him. Drip of water. A fading light. Old dreams encroached upon the waking world” (Page 280.) McCarthy describes Papa’s dying vision in great detail because Papa has a very realistic view of death. He sees things as they are, so death to him is an eternal dream. When Papa actually dies, it is in his sleep, which is how he imagined it to be. “He slept close to his father that night and held hum but when he woke in the morning his father was cold and stiff” (Page 281.)When the boy wakes up, Papa is dead. Papa had not spoken about death much, but it was obvious he thought it was something that God decides for each person. As Papa is dying, his dreams begin the mix with reality. Papa believes that death is a dream you never wake from, and it ultimately is how he dies, peacefully in his sleep. Papa lived a long, full, harsh, strong life, and helped support the life of his son. He worked hard to acheive it, so he was rewarded with a peaceful

This is me with Grandma McPeak. She died less than a month after making this quilt for my grandson. She was the first Bible I ever read. Her life overflowed with Christ's love, in all she said and did.

September 27th 2009. I was on my dad’s weekend and my mom was in the hospital for a weeks. I would visit her every day and sometimes bring her flowers. But on september 27th I woke up and walked into my living room and my dad was sitting on the couch looking sad. I asked what was wrong and then a knock was heard on the door it was my step dad and half brother. My step dad had puffy eyes he was crying. He told me to sit down and my brother came out and sat next to me. My dad looked at us and he spoke up your mother had just passed this morning. I was shocked I was hurt I was scared.I didn’t know if i should cry or run away. I’ve learned that losing someone you love is tough.

As a child, my life had always been hard. “Perhaps it’s better that way!” my pa would slur out whenever I complained. The sour, pungent, and sadly familiar smell of cheap liquor would hang between us. My father had drunk to forget. What did he want to forget? I always wondered. People claimed it was Ma’s

Warily, I walked over to where my father was standing right outside the school, waiting for Cole and I, when I saw he had shades on, I knew for sure that something was wrong, due to the fact he never wore shades. When we were to the pick-up my whole family was in there. Noticing, when I jumped in the pick-up, my mother also had shades on. Anxiously, I sat there attentively for the longest second of my life, then my father stammered to us that grandfather had passed away. Countless emotions were running through me, overwhelmed; I didn’t know what to think, raving; owing to they said he was going to be adequate, grieving; due to I didn’t get to talk t6o my grandfather before he passed

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.

Everybody experiences death within their lifetime. Although it comes in different shapes and sizes, it’s still inevitable; nothing can be done to stop it. Not only do people experience physical death among their families, but they also deal with relational death. A traditional family is your typical idea of a family: heterosexual parents with their kids who have the bond of a lifetime and do everything together. Death is not only hard to get through, but it can also leave scars that last a lifetime. These ideas are shown together in three specific poems: “Eating Alone” by Li-Young Lee, “Those Winter Sundays” by Robert Hayden, and “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke. As well as articles by Jonah Goldberg, Frank Pittman, and Out of the Fog,

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

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.