She had been sick for a year, at least. The reason for her illness went undiagnosed, that is, until three days before she went away. A doctor finally said, “Osteoarthritis-- it’s treatable.” We blew a sigh of relief. Three days later relief was nullified-- forever. I discovered my mother gone, and her leaving left a hole in my life, heart, and soul.
Saturday, July 25, 1998, started out with a drive to Eckerd Drug across the city of Norman to pick up more prescriptions for my mother, who had been throwing up and suffering from diarrhea all night long. When I returned home she took all five of her medications plus the three new ones. I went back to bed and tried to sleep, since I had had …show more content…
For some reason, I looked at Erin’s digital clock in her car at 8:13 p.m. and said to Erin, “Mom’s been so sick, and I’m so scared that she’s not going to live much longer.”
“Don’t say that. I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Erin.
“But I’m really scared.”
“It’ll be okay,” Erin tried to reassure me. Little did we know.
We drove around for an hour longer, became bored and went home. When we got back to my house, Erin, Lisa, and Gavin stayed in the living room as I went down the hall to let Powder, our dog, outside to go to the bathroom. I walked around my mother’s bed to the patio door and opened it and called for Powder to go out. He was lying on my mother’s bed at her feet. I called to him, “Come on, Powder, go out.” I was calling as quietly as I could; since, I didn’t want to wake up my mom. She needed her rest after last night. But he just whined and wouldn’t move. I finally went over to him, picked him up, and put him outside. He just sat outside the door and stared in at me.
I thought his behavior was weird but turned to exit her bedroom, walking cautiously in the dark, trying not to wake her. As I got about five steps across the room, at the foot of her bed I realized she wasn’t snoring. I stopped, stood perfectly still, and held my breath so I could hear her breathing. Nothing. I quietly crossed to the other side of
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That day I was at school but was very worried about my little dog Fifi. Fifi was my life, and last night I had found her bleeding a little from her privates. I had cleaned her and set her on her bed with some cotton below her for the night. But today morning, after I walked her and fed her, she seemed okay I had settled her on her bed while going to school. Still, somehow, I couldn’t concentrate on my school work my mind kept going back to Fifi the whole day. Finally when I got home I rushed to her room and opened the door to see her passed out on her bed, when I saw her my heart literally dropped because I thought she was dead. I picked her up to see that she was still breathing but as I picked her up I could hear her cry and I broke out in
“I don’t feel good,” exclaimed the auburned haired girl with the tomboy look and ragged denim jacket. “I don't feel good at all. Where is my dog anyways? He should have been home half an hour ago” She looked around to hopefully find a trace of where her speckled, droopy eared beagle went and then she saw it, a huge contraption about a foot and half taller than ten feet. She ran to PawPaw and said in excitement “what is that huge thing in the barn?”
The comparisons--North vs. South, city vs. country, technology vs. nature--are numerous and have been well documented in 20th century literature. Progress contrasts sharply with rooted cultural beliefs and practices. Personalities and mentalities about life, power and change differ considerably between worlds... worlds that supposed-intellectuals from the West would classify as "modern" and "backwards," respectively. When these two worlds collide, the differences--and the danger--rise significantly. This discrepancy between the old and the new is one of the principal themes of Gloria Naylor's Mama Day. The interplay between George, Ophelia and Mama Day shows the discrepancies between a "modern" style of thinking and one born of
I walk down the stairs, surprised by the sight of all my family in my living room. Instantly, I'm wondering what's going on. Usually, no one is up at this time. I see everyone sitting down, and my dog Murphy laying there right in the middle of them all. I stare at my mom and I see the sadness in her face, but she's staying strong.
I heard the click of the lock and my mom pushed the door open. We were greeted with an excited Coco. Her tail would wag furiously from left to right, making a thumping noise against the furniture and shakes her entire body in the process. My shoulders relax, and I did not realize how good it feels to be home. My brother pushes past me. The stench coming from his dirty and ripped up football jersey made my nose wrinkle. He rushes ahead to take a shower before dinner. That’s when a familiar smell hits me. A growling noise came from deep inside my stomach, wanting to be fed after a long tiring Thursday at school.
I sat on my bed with my arms wrapped tightly around my pillow swaying back and forth. My mom lightly knocked on my door and asked if she could come in. I tried to wipe away the stains left by my long stream of tears, but I felt my skin sting and eyes swell instead. She asked if I wanted to talk about it, but my response got stuck in my throat, so all I could do was shake my head and shove my head deep inside my pillow. Her bare feet smacked on the concrete as she made her way over to my bed. Her weight made an indent in the corner of my mattress as she sat down and laid a hand on my back.
For the 2010 Super Bowl, Doritos put out a commercial that was titled “House Rules”. In this commercial a young man comes to take a beautiful young, single mother out for their first date. While the mother is out of the room putting up the flowers the man brought, the man sits down to socialize with the son. As the man sits down he picks up one of the son’s Doritos, and just as he is about to put the chip in his mouth the son slaps him. After slapping the man the son says, “Don’t touch my mama, and don’t touch my Doritos.” This 2010 Super Bowl Doritos commercial is an example of visual rhetoric, because it appeals to the audience using pathos, ethos, and what the camera focuses to not just persuade the viewers
My parents had been married for thirty-four years as the time of her death. During that time, they raised three children and were the proud grandparents of six grandkids. No one had to guess where you stood with my mom – they knew. She gave love and showed compassion to anyone who allowed. Growing up, all of our friends called her “Mama T” because she mothered so many and her last name was Tatum.
"What's happening?" she asked, but this time her words were heavy, and became intense. I stood up for a moment, meeting her eyes with mine. I let out a sigh as I glided down the wall and sat down. "Nothing," I whispered. "Go back to sleep while you can." I could see her tremble as she pulled the rotten cloth over her head and turn to her side, ignoring the stench and forcing herself to fall asleep.
As a child Gloria read white American Literature, which later lead her to be a writer and publish great insight perspective writings.(encyclopedia) As Gloria got older, she was an advanced student in high school, she even graduated with honors.(encyclopedia) Later, while in college she faced an obstacle of finding her blackness after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.(encyclopedia).She then left to be a teacher for Jehovah Witness as a way to search for her purpose.(encyclopedia) Her whole childhood geared her towards being an author, and to write one of her most popular books “ The Women of Brewster Place ”.
He walked sluggish up the stairs to go to bed, I ran towards mom to see if she was okay, I saw her face filled with fear and it looks like she wasn’t in this world anymore, like she was off, lost in her conscience. I felt suddenly like I wasn’t home, like I just walked into a different world with parents I didn’t even recognize. I left my mom in her mess of thoughts and ran upstairs a little wary that my dad would pop out. I shut my door silently and just sat on my bed, wondering what happened to Clover and hoping she’ll come back home soon, no wait this is not my home anymore.
It was a summer day and I was sitting under the shade in the backyard when I heard the car’s wheels pull up to the driveway. It was my owner “Dad” as Christi would say, when even her fathers name is actually David. I don’t know why she calls him that. I peered through the slits of the picket fence. All I could see was a portion of the car and some of the drive way. Then I saw Christi hop out and she sounded excited. I couldn't see because they left the driveway and I heard them go into the house. I was waiting for them to open the back door as usual. Then I heard the door click and it came open Christi was sitting there with a poodle in her arms. “Clifford this is your new sister.”
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.
In 2013, my mother was very ill and had to travel interstate for life saving treatment. It was a very long year, and it forced the development of my independence and self-direction, given my family’s focus on my Mum’s illness.