My Struggle With Grief

I once read a book about a guy who believes that everyone gets a tragedy at some point in their life. I never thought this could be true, because some people have great lives, and even if they do not how would they decide what the single hardest moment was? Recently my father passed away, and I realized you do not get to decide, you just know. This had been the hardest point in my life, however, the same book taught me that good things can come out of any bad experience if you look for them. Before I could see that I had to deal with many things, such as realizing he was really gone, going to his funeral, and going back to school. I also had to cope with the fact that I would never have the chance to change the relationship I

And then, the day I had feared of most, finally arrived. We lost our father, the only figure I truly felt safe with. After months of mourning and painful transformations, our mother fell sick. In those terrible days, days during which I was locked in the basement most of the time, for my safety and even more: for the safety of my family, I was incapable of helping. To this, I regret even today.

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.

When I was a child, I dreamt about being a doctor helping others. I knew at the early age of 7 that I wanted to make a difference in others’ lives. After the death of my mother in 1999, I slowly changed my mind about what I wanted to do with my life. I told myself that I would do whatever it took to help bring justice for families that go through what I went through with the death of my mother. As I was going through college I realized that criminal justice wasn’t for me after working in the field. I sat there one day wondering what I would do next and I realized I have a passion for helping others; and I love babies, so why not use that to my advantage. That is how I ended up here at Southern Careers Institute pursuing a career in the

The article "Following "Horrible Tragedy," S.C. Mayor Pledges Body Cameras for Cops" is about a police officer shooting an unarmed black man in South Carolina. The shooting cause a lot of argument whether or not that the shooting was justice or not. Some people think that the shooting is because of racism but some think not.

Grief and loss are some of the most defining characteristics of the human experience. Therefore, dealing with grief and loss is one of the most important things humans must learn. While there are many approaches, Jennifer Kent uses her film The Babadook to suggest that suppression is not a healthy way to deal with grief. By thoughtfully planning the mise-en-scene, soundtrack, and narrative storytelling, Kent teaches viewers that suppression causes the inner monster to come out in all of us, just as it did to Amelia in The Babadook.

Without wading into the thicket of details, it came to be forces beyond anyone’s control that led to the financial emergency that left my father and stepmother with essentially no source of income, the very same time they took on the added expenses of welcoming the birth of my baby brother. I had no idea about the financial situation until my father, who tried to protect me, was unable to pay an installment of my tuition. Though the situation was eventually resolved, this sudden concern for whether I would be able to afford to continue my schooling severely affected my concentration, further hampering my

How have your perceptions about and prior experience with depression, grief and suicide been challenged by the information presented?

It was back sometime in the summer of 2004 when my life would be uprooted and changed. The day we left, my dad sat me in his bedroom and said he would always be my dad, and that he loved me. My mom had packed all our things in her little white Nissan that worked only half the time, and we made the trek to our new home. The ride was long, and my brother being only three years old was not too happy about that. When we got to the house, the shudders were black and the drive-way was unpaved. In the front yard stood a man I had never seen before. His beer gut was small but obvious enough, what little hair he had left poked out of his trucker hat. His face had

His death has severely lessened her lasting impact on my life. My memories of her are rarely thought upon; thus fading into complete obscurity eventually. I had once viewed that time as ours, but now it is his, nobody else’s.

I was four years old and playing with my cousin in the guest room of my grandfather’s home in northern Michigan. Despite the frigid temperatures and snow piled up to my nose, I looked forward to this trip every year. I rarely had the opportunity to see my father’s family, and I had no idea why. Just as my cousin and I shoved a copy of The Wizard of Oz into the VCR, my father entered and hurriedly scooped me up in his arms. “We’re leaving now,” he said, and exited the room. I pounded on his chest and yelled, but he made a beeline to the door. Just as we were about to leave, I saw a strange woman out of the corner of my eye. She was talking animatedly to my aunts and uncles, and I heard one of them call her “sis.” My dad called her nothing.

My first memory was sitting in my dads old, gray pickup staring at the stars as he drove the highways back home. Tired from a day of stressful travel, when in previous hours I was on a leash led by my mom in the airport. My dad has always created a sanctuary everywhere he went, which was a vital skill growing up with a homeless father. My parents began their long unpleasant divorce when I was two, whereas my dad was gifted a restraining order entering the house. I didn’t see him for months until he was granted permission to pick me up from preschool with a bottle of chocolate milk in his warm hands. Their divorce created a hole in everyone’s lives that each of us tried to fill separately. Mom was never home, working three jobs, going to school full time, and filling that hole with cigarettes, beer, and boyfriends. My sister filled it with endless sleepovers and friends, while I had three friends that I never saw outside of school.

Grief is like weather. Some days are cold, wet and stormy, while the other days are bright warm and sunny. Today like most days its storming. I lost my heart, my life, my boyfriend to five bullets 1,327 days ago. Not only have I lost all hope but I forgot how to love so deep. Experiencing the passing of my boyfriend was never easy. I knew the love was always true from all the wonderful times we had, to the phone calls, until the funeral. I knew he was always the one who had my back. Dealing with the death of my boyfriend Dante’ was never easy but his spirit presence helps to persevere though life daily challenges.

The death of a loved one is one of the most challenging events I have had to overcome. The summer of 2014, I was just going into my junior year, was one for the books. It was an absolutely amazing summer. My sister had her first baby in May and we were getting to make his first summer his best, but little did we know it would also be his last. We lost him at the end of July. It was one of the hardest things to cope with. So many unanswered questions still to this day stand.

Losing my mother was very traumatising. She was the only parent I knew since the age of three and the one person I knew I could depend on one hundred percent. I was in school when one of my cousin came to inform me that I was to return home immediately. In my gut I knew something serious must have happened to my mother. I do not remember how I got home. When I saw several people crying at my home and nobody was really make eye contact with me, I just started to cry too and that is when someone told me how sorry they were for my loss. I was in shock for more than three days. I did not sleep nor eat and I did not shade single tears after the initial outburst. Basically I just wanted to crawl in a corner and never wake up from the nightmare. However, I had to become an adult and I