Personal Essay 'Getting The Call'

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 night in January, I couldn't sleep and it was 4am and then out of the blue I got a call from my sister.. At first all I had was questions, “What do you mean his organs are shutting down?” And then she said it-- grandpa’s dying. She called telling me that our grandpa, who was battling cancer on and off for eight years,

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.

Stanley, while in town, decided to go to the annual company picnic. The picnic is a ceremonial rite that encourages employees to set aside the usual roles and relationships among employees and the executives will make sure to be available to talk and be open to anyone .

I received the news, that my mother had no chance to live and one doctor, placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed loudly with discomfort. He said,” she is not a candidate for any treatment.” I stormed into the ICU room, and held my mother’s hand; she glared at me, unconsciously. I couldn't help but hold back my emotions, so I could be strong for our family. As my eyes were helplessly filling up with tears, I couldn't help but to look around at the doctors and nurses working diligently, and doing the best they could for my mother. At the moment, I remembered the sacrifices that were made to help my mother and how saving lives was my calling from God. Thankfully, my mother survives but only at a twenty percent ejection

During the month of October, I was told over the phone that my Godfather, the only father figure I have, was diagnosed with cancer two years ago. Based of my mother’s reaction to my gasp and sudden questions that she refused to answer, I could tell that she wasn’t planning on telling me in the first place. This information that my mother slipped up and said shook my whole world. Not only the fact that my “father” has a disease that kills daily but the fact that everyone knew but me. I was devastated, I instantly hung up the phone and called my “father”. He proclaimed that my mother volunteered to tell me when he was first diagnosed and he thought I knew all this time. My “father” is the reason I looked into Dr. Sebi, not only has he found a cure but one that actually works

Finally, as he abruptly snapped out of his daze, he gazing at me with his deep brown eyes and sighed, "The doctors admitted my dad to Hospice today." Once those disheartening words left his mouth, his face became distraught, his eyes turned dark and droopy, his nose became stuffy, and his lips tensed tightly. Hunching over his long legs, tears began pouring out of his saddened eyes onto his freshly-ironed clothes. My heart crumbled as Grant Oubre, my consoler and companion, was crying beside me. I did not know how to comfort him much less myself; I was in complete and utter shock. As he pulled himself together, he glanced at me once again with his sagging eyes and melancholic expression as he said, "Hospice is where they make you comfortable

At that point all I would ever hear from people was, “oh you poor thing”, or “I’m sorry!” The only thing I heard was people pitying me, but in contrary, those words and moments only sparked a strength that I never thought was achievable. I promised myself to turn those words that represented sorrow into drive to fuel that strength. The first memory that I realized that inner strength was when I was first told that I had cancer. I heard the door click open, five doctors appeared in their white coats, they would come in surrounding me at the hospital bed. I just laid there confused about why all of this was happening. None of them spoke for a minute. My guess is that they were trying to figure out how to tell a fourteen-year-old that she has cancer as if they expected me to start breaking down sobbing. Instead, my eyes refused to shed a single tear as just hearing the words, “ You have cancer.” Those three words turned my life upside down in a matter of a second. Then I proceeded to process them in my mind. Trying to calculate a solution as if it were a math problem. As if it was that easy, but I still managed to ask the question that I never

In the autumn of 2013 my beloved grandmother suffered from many medical complications. After discovering esophageal cancer, surgery to remove it caused a tear in her esophagus, which led to numerous health hazards. As a result, the cancer spread throughout my grandmother’s bloodstream and it was impossible to maintain her health. By October of the same year, she fought to maintain her optimistic personality that I admired so dearly as a child. There was nothing more the doctor’s could do and while she wasn’t able to speak clearly, she understood the circumstances completely. As my mother asked her if she was ready to rest she pointed up to the heavens with her eyes closed. As we said our goodbyes she was given morphine until she was no longer with us. To force my grandmother to suffer and endlessly wait for healing would have been selfish of us. It is hard for those of us who are healthy to consider death as a logical option in crucial situations. While it is a difficult concept to grasp, in certain circumstances it is the better

It all started with our family sitting at the dinner table with my mom crying, holding crumpled up tissues with black streaks of mascara on it. My dad nervous enough to say, “Your mom has stage four breast cancer.” Those words have stuck in my head clear as a bell for the last eight years. Our faces of curiosity soon turned into fear. As an eight year old I didn’t understand a lot of words grownups said, but those burning words were sharp knifes on my throat.

My grandfather’s body was slumped over on one side of his wheelchair, and I screamed when seeing his face turning purple. A few moment later, my father ran into the house, and he immediately drove my grandfather to the hospital. The doctor told my family that my grandpa only had one week left to live. The next day, my father saw a text from my uncle saying that grandpa has passed away eight o’clock in the morning. My father felt regret since he did not have the chance to see him for the last time. I was overwhelmed and shocked by what my father told me. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding faster than the beating drum. It was at that moment my eyes started to become blurry because my tears slowly ran down my cheeks. My grandfather was the most inspiring man that I had ever made in my

That first day, we drove him to the community medical centre despite it being less than a five minute walk away. At just 52 years old he could barely walk. His shuffled slowly from the car on shaking legs. A dull silence fell as we sat in the waiting room, I placed a reassuring hand on my fathers withered knee while he stared into the near distance, barely acknowledging my touch, mute and withdrawn. He smelled of urine and booze, of unclean clothes, the toll that comes from

After a while of sitting in my grandparents living room mindlessly playing with my toys I decided to get up. I walked towards the commotion going on in the small hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen. The gathering of people consisted of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma. Curious about what was going on I walked over to the group. I reached my mom and looked up to see that her eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying. I looked over to my dad and his face, like everyone else's, was grim. During this time I kept hearing one repeating word, cancer. I started to listen more closely to the conversation going on around me because even at the age of seven I knew that cancer was bad news. I listened intently and heard my mom explain how she had colon cancer.

I watched as my family said goodbye as a I lay in my hospital bed, breathing raspily. I told them that I loved them. I tried to reach out for my mother’s hand, but was stopped by the short slack of all the tubes and wires connected to me. She comes closer so she can hold my hand, so she can comfort me in my last moments.

However, over telephone conversations, I could feel my mom’s presence, giving me advice and letting me know soon we will be reunited. As long as I felt her encouragement, I didn’t feel any anxiety or sadness. The day she took her life, by inhaling gas, everything changed. Knowing that I would not have another chance to see her face or hear her voice wounded me. For weeks, I felt numb. I was deaf to my surroundings. I couldn't eat and didn’t have the will to open my eyes. Nothing made me happy. The thought of bringing her here had driven me forward and motivated me, and now she would never witness my success.