My Parents' Divorce Made Me Who I Am Today

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.

It was less than a second, maybe half a second, but it changed everything. It was late at night after a soccer game. I was laying down in my room, coloring in a picture book, when my parents called me downstairs. After my sister and I walked downstairs, we were told to sit on the couch. Apparently my parents had something important to tell us, i didnt really realize what was going to happen because I was younger, so I sat on the couch smiling widely.

I went to my living room to ask my mom a question, to see she wasn’t there. I asked my brother “where’s mom?” and he replied with “shes at the hospital, grandpa got burnt.” I would never have expected “grandpa got burnt” to be as severe as it was. I remember my mom coming home around two in the morning. I got up and out of bed to ask some questions. She said “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Pack some stuff up, we’re going to Waterloo tomorrow.” So I listened and packed up a bag.

Going through my parent’s divorce was very life changing for me. I went through so many emotions, which until this day is a topic that is hard for me to talk about. It was very sad not seeing my parents together, having no clue where my dad was and seeing my mom sad. I would love to spend time with my parents and brothers. For example, our Sunday’s mornings, seeing my mom cook breakfast, watching my dad drink his cup of coffee, watching TV with my brothers, then playing Latin music seeing my parents dance. I loved that so much. So not having that out of

“What you are afraid to do is a clear indication of the next thing you need to do.” (-Ralph Waldo Emerson). My parent´s divorce has shaped and influenced my whole life, with a lot of side effects. I fell into a state of depression. I learned not to dwell on the bad things in life. I found a person within myself that I could live with for a while, a kid that I could be proud of, someone I wouldn’t hate. Over the years, I’ve changed, little changes, big changes, it’s all happened, and I am who I am today because of it. Not all crummy circumstances stay awful, even though it may feel like it. I can’t tell if I’ve changed for the better or the worse, but everything starts with something, one thing. My parent´s divorce shaped me into who I am today, whether the changes were good or bad, little or big, this has changed me.

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.

Even though situations seem averse they might become positive in the end. To me and probably most people in my situation would say that their parents being divorced would be a negative situation. Although at the time I was distraught, I learned that my parents divorce might have not been helpful at first, but later on it affected my life dramatically.

That was until I started noticing the signs. The glares from across the room, the directly “indirect” comments, and worst of all, the constant echoes of their quarrels in the late hours of the night. I often .wondered how their vocal chords could stand angrily barking for what felt like years every night. The realization of what was happening didn’t settle in until I saw Father’s car reverse down the driveway, never to return again. I looked straight into the depths of my mom’s eyes, not even detecting a speck of a single tear, but instead a little gleam of hope. I could tell she knew life would be better, and if she believed that then I didn’t understand why I couldn’t either. Adjusting to the new lifestyle was easier for me than my brother; he was always my dad’s favorite. I, on the other hand, always took my mom’s side on arguments, which slowly created a rift between Father and my relationship. It came to a point where I had stopped visiting altogether. My life had turned upside

Even six year old me could see the great suffering my father experienced not only mentally but physically. I recall once walking in the bathroom and seeing my father vomit, it was the first time I seen him so vulnerable. I could see the pain in his eyes. It was our third month in the united states and my father could not find a job, it was killing him. He was considering a job as a dishwasher to support his family, for that I could never repay him. A sprinkle of hope glimmered in our dark world when my dad got a job as a dispatcher at a local Airport, when I look back now I wonder if father ever felt disappointed that his hard nights of studying in college was futile, if he know that he would have to give up his career to support his family. Soon we moved out of my aunt and uncle’s how’s into a small one bedroom apartment in a sketchy neighborhood. By that time my mother has lost a total of thirty pounds. The once vibrant and sociable women was always tired, she often made called relatives back home which resulted in her crying for hours. My father would often cook and clean, it was fascinating to see my dad performing these tasks

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

On January 5, 2009 my father pasted away. He and I did not have the typical father-son relationship; we did not have a relationship at all. I presumed that it would have a little if any affect on me. However, as the semester continued, it seemed to get worse. Besides my father’s passing, several weeks later my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. It was difficult for me to deal with, but it was more difficult for my mother to handle.

“It is a shame that her father left her...this happened because her mother failed her job as a wife...she is so young...what was her father thinking?”, my relatives whispered as they sipped their tea. My cousin’s face turned pale like the white blanket of snow falling outside the lodge at the camp in Lake Tahoe. Her expression held so many emotions as if it was a canvas of a painting to be gazed upon. I could see that she felt frustrated and tired of these rude remarks, and all I did was just stand there and caressed the back side of her hands, so I could comfort her. Suddenly, it felt like the air had thickened so much that even a hammer could not slash it into tiny bits. My cousin had not yet known why her father left the house yesterday.

The morning wind is as cold as ice, slicing passed my skin while I’m standing against it. It always like today of every year: cloudy, cold and sad. Like the sky is crying with me. I blend down to a tall, sleek, marble stone with the name “Amelia Bennett” written on it. That’s my mother’s name. She died when I was 7 year-old, it’s odd that I have the memories of her very clearly in my brain. Most children probably won’t. But I do, and I when I do, I missed her. I don’t even know what happened on that tragic day. I was blacked out and the next thing I remember is that she’s now laying deep underneath my feet. No one knows what happen, or no one wants to talk about it, not even my aunt. She’s the one that take me in after the accident. Why? Because

There are many cases where my brothers and sisters seeked for me whenever unfortunate circumstances unfolded. For instance, whenever our mother had leave us to go to work, there was no one to look after us. I had to step in and take care of them myself. I was no older than ten years old. Everyday I had a sickening fear that I would fail to take care of them. I couldn’t let them know or else they would be scared that I wouldn’t be

Four years it’s been since I lost my beloved grandmother. The grief striking words still lingers freshly in my brain though it was last night. It was slightly after dusk when the earth shuddering news knocked on our door. My mother was busy kneading dough to prepare chapati and being my favorite dish, I was grinning from ear to ear with excitement. Unusually to say, her phone was ringing off the chain and since her hands were covered with flour, I answered the phone seeing it was her sister. No sooner did I pick up the call when she uttered these words. “We are officially orphans sister’’, my aunt’s tone was melancholic. Myriad woeful thoughts began flooding my mind. Those thoughts kept on building up like an unstoppable snowball in the pit