I Am A Hot, Sticky, End Of September Day Essay

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

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.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Puerto Rico where my family and I were taking a vacation that spring. As I lay on my dad’s colorful bed in the small pink villa on the water, I find it hard to enjoy the view that comes from the balcony and the salty smell of the light blue ocean. The villa resides on a rocky cliff where the rippling ocean waves smash onto the rocks below. The waves, which usually relax me, are insignificant. I see colorful houses that run along the water for miles just like ours. In the corner of my eye I see the infinity pool that looks out onto the crystal clear water. Something else is on my mind. Something not even the alluring scenery could take my mind off of-death. One month earlier, I lost my mom to a vicious disease called cancer. Its evilness left my family and I broken and sick at heart. When I look back now to that vacation, I think nothing other than sadness and mourning. Maybe it was too soon to take a vacation, I thought. My dad walks into his room and sits next to me on his bed.

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.

It was another restless Friday afternoon in the small-town nursing home. Overworked nurses buzzed around, itching to start their weekend. “Ann,” a late-stage dementia patient, stared out her bedroom window. Her eyes focused on nothing in particular. As a hospice volunteer, I had been visiting Ann for three months. She spent our time together lost somewhere in her mind where I could never seem to reach her. I reminded Ann who I was and began one of our familiar conversation topics. As usual, she never spoke. As the visit went on, however, something changed. Ann slowly shifted her gaze toward me. I paused. She gently reached for my hand. Her hand felt weak, but her grip was firm. She looked into my eyes, and for a moment her face was clear with recognition. “You’re here,” she said. “…You are here.” She struggled to get out the words as she brought my hand to her face and kissed it. I was so touched I could not speak. For a moment, Ann connected with me. She trusted me. In that moment, I knew I had made the right choice.

In 2015 my grandmother died. When I received the news I was on the couch and my mother told me “Miguel we have to talk” I was sweating because my mother was so serious and she told me that my grandmother was dead, and in that moment all I could think about was being back in the Dominican Republic, growing up with her, imagining the moments I spent in her house and the mornings that I sat in her living room, watching TV and smelling her amazing food wafting through the pass-through window from the kitchen. Then I snap back on reality and realize the future my grandmother would want for me.

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

“My grandpa has stage 3 leukemia and it’s progressing very fast.” I had never seen her so down and upset. Casey’s grandpa was the one who taught her the majority of what she knows about bass fishing. They were very close and fished together all the time. This was going to be where her life changed. Casey was a strong girl, she had been through a divorce with her parents. I knew that she could get get through this but it was going to be hard.

My grandma, whom we call Lola, had always been an exceptional woman. As an immigrant from the Phillipines, she sought new, exciting things; which was present in New York City. Lola loved being in the moment and helping others. In the city, she worked as an entertainment manager for a nursing home. Her pleasure in bringing joy to a gloomy place was incredible. A loving grandma, she always found a way to commute to New Jersey to see my family and I. She always made my day with her witty jokes. Lola’s smile would illuminate the whole room the moment she walked in.

“Molly, we have something to tell you,” my parents said, walking into the living room with saddened looks on their faces. I paused the movie and awaited their news. “Your grandma has been diagnosed with cancer.” I definitely was not expecting that to be the news, so it hit me like a brick wall; I was troubled and overwhelmed by the news to such an extent that I was speechless. She has been an important figure in my life for as long as I can remember and has always been there to listen and give me advice whenever I need it. Her insight into the important things in life has helped me and will continue to as I pursue my dreams for years to come.

Yelling from the top of my lungs at the bottom of the staircase, demanding breakfast and the control to turn on my favorite morning cartoon, everything seemed to be normal. However, the world as I once knew it quickly took a turn for the worse. You see, being the youngest of five, I quickly learned that a quiet house isn’t a normal house. Therefore, as I huffed and puffed up the stairs, snarling because everyone was still nestled in their beds, something quickly caught my eye. My brother, Craig was on the floor rolling back and forth in agonizing pain, he was barely able to make a call for help. Suddenly, my parents were awakened from my screaming and they quickly called 9-1-1. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. It seemed like my family was crumbling before my eyes. Suddenly, as I began to lose hope, I looked out of my bedroom window to see my dad carrying my brother in his arms up the driveway. My heart sunk into my stomach because I always saw my brother as a strong, self-sufficient teenager who never accepted help from anyone. Eager to know what happened, my parents sat my three older siblings and myself on the couch and told us the news: Craig has Cancer. Cancer. That’s all I heard. That one word had the ability to weaken the mold that once held my family together for so many years. My family became frantic and then gradually we began to forget how

The short story “All Summer In A Day” by Ray Bradbury describes how in planet Venus there is rain non-stop and the sun only comes out once in a day every seven years. Margot used to live on planet Earth, so she has felt and seen the sun before. The students “hated her pale snow face, her waiting silence, her thinness, and her possible future.” (Bradbury, 1954). To begin, the author uses craft moves to show the theme to show how Margot’s classmates were jealous. Using descriptive words, Bradbury gives a clear visual of the events of the children bullying Margot. The author uses similes to describe sun. “It’s like a fire, in the stove.” The jealousy of the children on Venus caused them to treat Margot poorly; this is shown

Late night phone calls never end well, and this one was no exception. My mom answered the shrill ring of the landline early one Wednesday morning and was greeted by her sisters solemn voice. Aunt Mary told her that their mother wasn’t able to swallow food anymore; an obvious problem that had all the more meaning to her. Barely a month before, grandma’s sister, my Great Aunt Maureen, after a long period of declining health, quickly passed away after loosing her ability to swallow. It seemed that grandma would follow her sister’s example. Mom hung up the phone, the weight of the world settling around her shoulders, and booked a flight for the small Irish town she grew up in.

The clock was ticking. I sat there on the old, hard floral couch. I could hear the faint sounds of the loons calling out to each other on the lake. Watching the long hand on the clock move ever so slowly, felt like torture. I had on what seemed to be my lucky sweatshirt this trip and a light jacket, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail in a ball cap. My grandpa walks into our little cabin, his face looking rough, you could tell that he hadn’t shaved this morning. My grandpa and I have always been very close. I’m his only granddaughter, so you could say that I am very spoiled He strode over to me and asked how his girl was. I gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He looked right at me reading exactly what was on my mind. It was time to go fishing.

When I was young, my father and I would always spend the summer on the glistening white sand of the beach at the end of the road. We would splash knee-deep in the cold waves, kicking the water so that droplets of water sparkled like crystals in underneath the warm sun. We would lay on our backs and admire the sky and watch the clouds swirl into marvellous shapes. We would build sandcastles that had moats and bridges and imaginary soldiers that would spar with thrusting swords and swinging shields. These picturesque days went on and on. They were a constant cycle of deep blue skies, imprinted on my mind. My oldest memories are all full of my father in these moments, as he played in the warm sand and stretched out his frown lines. Now, as I stand on the very same beach, moving my toes in the same warm sand, fifteen years on, I can’t help but miss it. Miss him. I can’t help but miss him regardless of the pain he injected into himself and everyone else who cared about him in the years leading up to him leaving.