My Father 's Life - Original Writing

The parents came out of Grandma’s room by one by one, bags under their eyes, makeup running down their face, and bright red noses. By that time, I could almost predict what happened. As my mom and dad approached us with their heads down, I prepared myself to hear exactly what I never wanted to hear. “The doctors are turning off the life support machine. She isn’t suffering anymore, and she will be looking over every one of you guys. She said she loves you all so much,” Mom told us while my dad didn’t hide his tears back.

One event that defined a part of my life that involved literacy was when I had to write a

The closeness, strength and longevity of their friendship. I take a deep breath, place my hand gently on my sons shoulder to wake him. No words can express the way a mother feels having to break that kind of news to their child. I embrace him as he responds in disbelief and sadness. My heart is breaking for him and the only thing I can do is squeeze him tighter and say I am sorry. In that embrace, I think of how devastated we would be if it were us getting news like that about our son, Christopher.You never think anything like that will ever happen to your family or someone close to you. We take so much for

Step, step,step. Slowly I walked toward the gravestones. I could the sun glistening against all the polished headstones and the late morning dew still sits on the grass peacefully. Also in the further back, I saw the headstone that belonged to my great grandfather. I didn't know him, but he was still in my heart. Knowing that today my great grandma would be buried next to the love of her life didn’t really matter since I didn’t really know here that much.

“Son… you are not going to school today.” My dad announced to me solemnly as I just opened my eyes waking up. “Your great grandpa has died over night and we are going to the hospital today.” Confusion was my companion that very hour as I got ready. My parents were serious and not really talking to my siblings and me. You could see the dried up tears on my father’s face. Sadness

When I was born my mom or dad didn’t know what they were gonna name me. My mom never thought if I was gonna be a girl or boy and neither did my dad. They came up with names like James or Bryan,David etc. anyway my dad came up with my name Austin he liked this name. Well I recived my name surprising from Texas the city of Austin. Well my mom liked it and they agreed on it. Well I could have thought of many names but i'm grateful Austin is my name.

My life changed when my brother’s heart stopped beating. It is easier to emotionally adjust and understand when older or sick loved ones die. The comfort of knowing they are in a better place soon or immediately follows after their death. But when a child just a few months’ shy of 11 dies—suddenly, without a simple or plausible explanation, life seems backwards. I was only six when we put my older brother in the ground. His death was my greatest adversity, but it also facilitated a new intellectual framework, that even now at twenty-four years old, I hold dear.

When I was born, my mom or dad didn’t know what they were gonna name me. My mom never thought if I was gonna be a girl or boy and neither did my dad. They came up with names like James or Bryan, David etc. anyway my dad came up with my name Austin he liked this name. Well, I received my name surprising from Texas the city of Austin. Well, my mom liked it and they agreed on it. Well, I could have thought of many names, but I'm grateful Austin is my name.

Too soon, I was bringing yellow daisies from my spring garden to place on the freshly laid sod of his grave. It was a quiet spot Hal had picked, and I would sit on the well-tended grass and hear only the hum of an insect or the call of a bird. My view of the river blurred through tears as I thought of the fourteen years we had shared.

I am the product of a daddy-less daughter and a daddy-less son, because of that the importance of a father has never been valued in my upbringing or even throughout my life. I forgot a father figure was supposed to be around until someone from school brought it up. Once in elementary there was an open house, my mom couldn’t make it, so I didn’t attend. The next day in class my classmates wanted to know where I was, and I said my mom had to work. Then someone asked, “well what about your dad”? Up until I was eight, I went to school and other kids didn’t even know who their fathers were, and I just didn’t ask questions about that, I figured once my father left my family no one would ask me either, but I got questions all the time. Throughout my life my father has been out of town, at work, asleep, sick, and even dead before I said that he walked out on us.

Ever since I was a kid, I always thought my dad was pretty cool. I mean, he isn’t the coolest person on this earth, but he’s cool… to me at least. He’s almost like a superhero if you ask me. He encouraged me to try a lot of things as a kid, such as play different types of instruments and play different types of sports. He always suggests to me, “Hey Kyla! You should try playing the piano!” or “I saw this little girl play soccer, do you wanna try it?” I always saw the hope in his eyes and the big smile he always had on his face whenever he asked. Of course, I would always agree to try it, but nothing really stuck. I never really understood why he made me go through all those things when in the end I ended up not having any passion for the things I tried. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful that I had the opportunity to try all those things, but I just didn’t know why he was trying too hard to get me to do these activities.

But then I saw the tear soaked eyes and lumpy throats and suddenly my tone of voice instantly changed from comedian to concerned. When I entered the affliction filled room, I was not prepared for the news that I was destined to hear. Considering my dad was 6’9 and weighed a good 250 pounds, I was in complete awe to see that he had come even close to crying; much less bawling. It was just all a complete shock. Hearing the words “Your brother is dead” was almost like hearing that your favorite dog got ran over. Well, maybe a combination of that and losing your best friend rolled all into one. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a whole lot worse. All that I know is that when he died, a part of me died as well.

My father was a high-functioning alcoholic for the vast majority of his life. However, nobody seemed to notice, not me, not my mother, not his friends, nobody. I did not know that people had parents who did not drink daily. It was not until halfway through my freshman year of high school when my parents announced their sudden divorce to my siblings and me that I ever questioned if he was okay. I think the divorce pushed him from being functional to someone I no longer recognized. He quit his job and began mixing the alcohol with pills. He would leave the house without telling anyone, a few times he would come back home with a black eye that he did not care to explain. None of us ever dared to speak of his bizarre absences, we ignored it

The phone call came, then the shock, and then the tears. The little 5 year old boy I was at the time had never realized until my poor aunt spoke in her deeply saddened voice what the death of a loved one had felt like. My great grandpa Harry had lived a good and long life, but unfortunately had passed away. I remembered the constant questions my brothers and I asked him pertaining to his life long ago in which he fought in World War II. I remembered the outstanding acts of physical activity he performed including his long bike rides that proved that a 90 year old man with enough spirit and heart could accomplish anything. I remembered visiting him on the couch at my grandmother’s house on special occasions or holidays, as he watched and watched his favorite baseball team, the Yankees, play. Lastly but most significant of all, after the death of my great grandpa, I realized that Harry Barnes was no longer going to be on this planet, and that death in general was inevitable.

When I woke up the morning of June 11th, 2008, I thought it was going to be a normal day, but, I was wrong. Growing up, my mom told my sisters and I about my Uncle. How he was hot tempered and did things that were crazy when he didn 't get his way. My mom and his relationship has always been tense. From what I 've seen, and from what she has told me. When she got shot by him that day, it proved to me that she was right.