Narrative Essay About The Dream

My great-grandmother was the matriarch of my family. When I was in seventh grade, around thirteen years old, she passed away due to breast cancer. This misfortune created an extremely difficult time for me because, not only was I adjusting to the environment of junior high, but many other issues were occurring in my life; this was the third death that I was having to deal with. Unfortunately, one of the previous deaths (that I was still trying to hurdle through and come to terms with), had occurred almost exactly a year before the passing of my great-grandmother. The second death that I had gone through occurred only one or two months before my great-grandma has passed. All of this turmoil created numerous internal conflicts for me, but also taught me a key lesson to keep note of, for the rest of my life.

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.

The following months a winter, cold and gloomy, surrounded the house. My grandmother came to stay with us since my father had fallen into depression and needed help taking care of my sister and I. When my grandmother went grocery shopping my sister would struggle with homework without my grandmother’s help. One day when my grandmother left to go grocery shopping my sister approached me, which was unusual of her since its very rare for her to come to me. Her dark brown hair and big eyes reminded me of my self when I was younger. “I’m hungry” she complained, a question she’s never asked me. My father sleeping and my grandmother away, I was the only one left to take care of her and that terrified me. I had never cared for or known how to care for someone else. All I knew was how to evaluate whether or not someone was caring for another correctly.

A Journey in Grief: A Mothers Experience Following the Death of her Daughter by Alice W. Terry describes how the loss of someone so dear to you is unimaginable. When I was thirteen I lost my grandmother. She had been sick for a long time; I remember going to visit her in the hospital many times before she passed. The death of my grandmother was my first and only personal experience with the loss of a family member. Although this reality makes it hard for me to relate to this article at a personal level, I am truly grateful for the health and well being of those closest to me. Only being thirteen at this time, I was old enough to comprehend what had happened but I had not been old enough to truly experience the sorrow of losing someone. When I lost my grandmother, all I remember doing is crying. Although I was expressing emotion and grieving her loss, I do not remember having a conversation about what happened. How was I feeling? What is going through my head? Looking back now, it is frustrating to accept the fact that no one truly knew how to comfort me.

I knew something was wrong with my great-grandma because we would only travel to Mexico to visit her. When we arrived outside my great-grandma’s house were two police cars and an ambulance. My mom ran out of the car and into the house, my dad followed her. My dad told us to wait in the living room and turn on the television while he and my mom talked to my aunt. A couple minutes later my mom comes into the room and tells me, “your great-grandma committed suicide.” When I heard those words it’s like the world paused, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t react, I couldn’t move. She also told me it happened in the backyard, although she said I had to stay inside I had to go see for myself. I walked outside and I’ll never forget what a saw, it was my grandma except it wasn’t the upbeat, lively great-grandma that made the best apple pie I knew, it was a lifeless, somber version of her. After seeing her, I ran inside the house and

When I was seven, I intentionally woke up my parents with a loud thump. It was my first night in America, as well as my first night ever away from my grandma. Among many things, my grandma is my best friend; she's the one I vent to, cry to, and laugh with. On the night my parents announced that my grandma decided she wouldn't be flying with us to our brand new home, a tear immediately formed from the side of my eye. But it disappeared as quickly as it had formed. The last thing she gave me was a handful of her favorite candy, trying to give me a little more of her heart. As she touched my hand, I felt her unconditional love for me through her countless wrinkles, and for the second time, the same tear started to form, but again, nothing shed.

At the age of fifteen, I knew I wanted to walk my own path. I was very close to my grandparents when I was younger and we did everything together. On December 11, 2008 my grandmother was coming to the end of a long hard fight with ovarian cancer. A hospice, Julie, was always in the house checking my grandmother’s conditions as she was in a coma. On this particular night I remember Julie taking my grandpa into the kitchen and him running up the stairs after she came out. I knew that this represented bad news for our family. Julie sat at my grandmother’s bed side with me through the night. She comforted me as I was mourning the passing of my grandmother. How Julie was able to balance her care for me and my grandmother that night was amazing. Julie gave me hope and reminded me that I would always have my grandmother in my heart.

My parents were going back and forth from the hospital. I was starting to think that my grandma had actually already died, and they didn’t want to tell me for some reason.

It was so devastating to get the news, that night my aunt had been in charge of caring for him overnight, she felt so guilty as if it were her fault. I’d been the first one up every morning and so I received a call from my aunt crying barely being able to speak, “Amy he’s gone, I’m sorry”. It was a Friday morning, that Friday morning that marked my life forever. As I informed my parents, it was difficult my mother shed to pieces and hurried to the hospital. Despite the loss, I went to school with no strength. Physically I was there, however but mentally I was not, all I thought about is our last words the night before and my promise to never give

One second I'm putting on my shoes!” I said loud and clear so my parents wouldn't leave me. I run out of my bedroom and see my mom at the door. The car felt as if the whole thing was made out of ice. As we all shivered through the whole car ride we pull up at the hospital. When I walked in, I could smell fresh coffee being made. The smell satisfies my stomach and without a doubt I say ¨Mom! Can I have coffee? Please?¨ She didn’t hear me. My parents ask the front office desk lady for my aunt. She says “Room 4A your first left.” “Thank you.” Says my mother. We see the first left hallway and see my uncle with a heavy face in tears. My uncle and dad start to talk. “Sagi come with me and Ivan go with your father.” Says my mom as she gives my brother a “See you in a bit” kiss. We walk in. It's pitch black and my eyes start to adjust to the darkness. I could smell antiseptic in the air. You can hear noses sniffing and cries of tears. At the right corner I see my aunt's sister and other relatives. At the left corner I see my aunt. My mother walks over to my aunt’s sister's. As I follow my mom I look at my Aunt, she's looking down at something in her arms as tears roll down her soft fragile faces. My mom tells me to be quiet and to sit down. My mother quiety talks to my aunt’s sisters. I wonder what in the hell is going to on?! My head is full of questions. After my mother got the news she approaches my aunt. My aunt looks straight in the eyes at my mom with a bitter face. My mom could feel her misery. A couple of tears ran down my moms face. Minutes pass. “Sweetie come here.” My aunt says with a delicate voice. I walked quietly to her. She puts her hands out. I grave them. She looks down at her arms. As I follow her eyes down I see a baby, Maria Guadalupe. She is tiny as my hand and covered in little chunks of blood. Right there and then I didn't have to ask what was wrong with Maria or why everyone was crying about. My baby cousin had not made it alive. My

I stood there, silent, and smiled sheepishly because really, things like this don't happen to me. Or around me. Yet, the next morning mother called her three sons to her bedroom and told us that my father's other wife, my stepmother, had died during childbirth in the midnight. Perhaps, because I had learnt to attribute the rift that cracked my family and caused my parents to separate to her, or because she used to be just another bleached face in the yellow two-storey house we used to live; I didn't know what to feel. But for not knowing what to feel, I felt guilt - and a chill on my

Losing my grandmother was one of the worst things that have happened to me. When she died, I knew my life had changed. I watched her take her last breath in the hospital and it was very heartbreaking. She was like my second mom because she was always with me. I didn’t think it would come so soon. Dealing with her death was one of the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do. It was very hard because it was my second experience of losing someone very close to me around the same time of the year. I had to learn how to cope with losing her. I let all my emotions out, I didn’t listen to what anyone was saying, and I had to remember to take care of myself. Losing my grandmother changed me because she did everything for me. I had to grow up and be more responsible. I had to learn how

I jumped up and ran in circles many times as if I were chasing my tail. My humans beeping box has awoken, and is prepared to strike at any moment.

We had just picked up my grandmother from her doctor 's appointment, and everyone in the car knew something didn’t go right there. I am in the very back of my mother’s silver van, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying. All of a sudden my mom pulls over and they all start to cry, and I just sit in the back unaware of what was said. I felt terrible, I just stayed quiet. We start driving again, and there is an awkwardness in the car. “How?” I hear my mother say in between a couple of tears.

It was around 1 am and I was busy on a call with my best friend. These late-hours, long talks were part and parcel of my nightly routine. For the reason that I always felt alienated in my own home because I was not much closer to my sibling and my parent’s busy schedule did not allow them to spend a fair proportion of time with their children. The rooms of my sister and grandfather were above the stairs and therefore I least get a chance to communicate with them. Moreover, my personal routine was too packed with other stuff that was far more important to me than anything else. But, that night when my grandfather fell off the stairs had opened for me the new doors of realization.