My Father's Deaths-Personal Narrative

Some people seem to grow up knowing exactly what they desire for themselves in regard to a career path; I, personally, have never felt that way until recently. I was born and raised in the beautiful town of Munich, Germany, by the most loving parents one could possibly have. My childhood was blessed by the fact that I was surrounded by people who cared for me and loved me deeply and unconditionally.

So about three years ago my aunt past away and my entire family attended the funeral. For those of you that know my immediate family (the Hairston clan) you know that nothing good could possibly come this happening. I'm going to tell a story that is 100% accurate with no exaggerations what so ever. This story will be long but well worth the time. It involves a black cowboy, an elderly Jamaican man, a borderline racist grandmother and three asshole brothers.

“Ya son las Cinco y media,” is what my dad would say to me everyday during summer. We would go up to Redlands to this avocado groove to pick avocados. Under the big, tall, leafy trees we would work until our bodies couldn't take it anymore and needed a break. We would work under the hot scorching sun, our faces dripping in sweat until 3:30. I would always get home tired knowing the same thing was waiting for me the next day.

It was the spring of 2013. My mom took me out of school early that day because we needed to get driving to Dike, Iowa. Since my sister is also a volleyball player, she has state that same weekend, but not in the same place. However, the sophomores were at the same place we were. Anyhow, my sister drove with my mom to the hotel her team was staying at, and I drove with my dad. I’m a lot like my dad so I get ready pretty quickly and I only pack what’s needed. When I got home, it took me about five minutes to get ready since I packed my bag the day before. On the other hand, my mom had to take at least half an hour to “fix” her makeup and her hair, and my sister took about forty-five minutes just to pack her bag! Anyways, my dad and I made it

“Hello, I’m Elizabeth, you may be wondering how I’m speaking to you, well I’m a ghost. Boo. *smiles* Well, I am going to tell you my story, it all started back in the 1820s. It’s been so long that I forgot the exact year it all happened in. Well, here’s my story of my death..”

It seemed like I was talking about the same thing over and over but all I could think of were about my feelings. I was only thinking of myself at that moment and not of anyone around me, I was selfish. It was crazy to think that everything was going fine one day and the next day everything turned upside down. I finally understood the news on the television about children of immigrant parents being scared everyday you can possibly think of. I became one of those statistics that they talk about all around. Losing my dad was one of the most hardest things that had happen to me out of all my 18 years of living, and there might be more in the future but this hit me the hardest. I never imagined my dad to be ripped from me and less did I ever to

There we are, Shelly and I, waking up early that Saturday morning to a hustle and bustle of pumping up ring tubes, packing coolers, walking to the store in the blazing heat, and preparing for the days events. Shelly, being a close childhood friend and later girlfriend of my father, Jeremy, we immediately had a close connection to one another. We had arranged to meet at Stout’s beach, this is not the actual name, but it was named that for one of my dad’s friends Jason Stout, and he was also a close childhood friend of my dads. There were so many of my dads friends who came in support of his memory. Many of these people he called friends he had known since he was a small child. The feeling I had greeting his childhood friends

It was a cold December night Dad had locked me out of the house it was better than the

When I was in, I think 4th grade and I was playing around and I was called to the office and I didn’t know what for. Was it my dad or mom? Was it someone I didn’t know? Was it just my sister? I had no clue what was about to happen.

I heard a loud yell as I stepped off the last step off the bus. It was 4:02pm and I had just gotten back from school. “Emily, come here! Hurry!” It was my dad. 1 million things raced through my head as I heard the loud yell. Was he hurt? Was someone else hurt? Living on a farm, with animals and machinery, you generally don’t think of anything good when you hear yelling.

Everybody in our family likes to do different things to do. For example, my dad enjoys playing soccer with his brothers and wants to have a cookout after. He was born here in Laredo born and raised, and his name is Javier Quiroga Trevino. He works at a trucking company and has been at it for about fifteen years.

My heart was so fucking heavy watching my girl lay in that coma and the love that Dmitri showed her was just everything. My girl finally had the man she deserved, I was so overjoyed when she came back to us. My mind was set on one thing planning my wedding until my period didn't show up, so here I am pissing on the fucking stick of shame for any unmarried woman. Yes, I knew Redd would take care of our child and yes we were engaged but we were not married and I don't think we are ready for a baby. But if I was pregnant we weren't leaving this island until I had his last name, shit our only family was right here with us. I came out of the bathroom after saying a quick prayer, I picked up a half sleep Lyric and rocked her in my arms, “Shanice

Right after she said that we heard the flatline tone. All of a sudden nurses came rushing in and yelling at us to hustle out. When we accumulated out in the hallway I felt a tug on my pant leg and looked down and saw my step-brother and asked him what he wanted.

I kept my head down as we walked in and I held my dad’s hand. The AC blew right on me as I stepped in and it automatically felt amazing. But, the smell of over-used cleaning supplies was nauseating. Breathing through my mouth was my only escape from the smell, although it even tasted a little too clean. It was nearly all the way quiet, but the typing of keys on a keyboard filled the room a feeling of work, business, and seriousness. The woman in at the desk didn’t look up, so we passed by silently and quickly.

My mind had begun to clutter like a prison, very ironic being that’s what living here felt like. I heard the sounds *Click-Click, Click-Clack* flying through the hall as I sat on my bed in a room so full of expensive items and clothes that you would be convinced that I am loved. My stomach growled being that I hadn’t eaten all day and it was a Saturday. On Saturdays Kayne is off work and even if he was nice when sober, I was still scared. Even the social workers would believe that everything here was okay. A realization needs to be made that