Personal Experience In My Life

997 Words4 Pages
I forgot to make Johnny and Cora, my younger siblings, their lunches again today. It’s been very hard on me, I have so much more responsibility than I have ever had before. With my older sister, Betsy, sick in bed with the Spanish Flu, my mama working in a factory, and my father away fighting in the Great War, I have to do everything I can for my family. I cook, clean, get the kids ready, help with homework, care for Betsy, and I don’t mind it all that much. The only thing I miss most about my old life is getting to go to school and have opportunities to learn. All I can do now is sit at home and read in the little free time I have. Today, I have to go to the pharmacist and refill Betsy’s medicine. I walk out of the door and into the busy…show more content…
Papa’s coming home!” I yell as I thrust the newspaper into her cold hands. “Oh Rose, this is such good news. Papa’s coming home!” she says weakly, but with a huge grin on her face. We sit together and talk about what it’ll be like with papa back at home. I read through the rest of the newspaper with her looking over my shoulder. “Betsy, look at this! There were 53,402 casualties in the war, that’s a great deal of men.” I say with a frown. We seem to both know the possibility that papa didn’t make it, but we keep quiet. I hear the door swing open and run downstairs. “Cora! Johnny! The Great War’s over!” I yell as they put down their bags. “Does that mean papa’s coming home?” Johnny cried out with tears of joy. “Yes it does Johnny. We’ll all be together soon.” I say as I pull them into a hug. Once they go to bed, I sit by the fire and read through the newspaper some more. I see an article about Women’s Suffrage and wonder why my mama hadn’t talked about this at all. It talks about women fighting for equal job opportunities and even the right to vote. As I am caught up in reading, I hear a knock at the door. I look through the window and see that it is my mother standing in the cold. Right when I open the door, I realize that something is wrong. “Mama? What’s wrong?” I say, dreading what her answer will be. “It’s papa. He’s gone. I got a letter at work today,” she says, her voice shaky and soft. All I can do is stand here, paralyzed with grief. My father,
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