Personal Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

The sparks fly in the air, there are marshmallows in your hair, and you’re with your favorite people in the world. This is called the best place on earth, for me at least. I enjoy camping so very much, you meet new people, experience different things, make new memories, and have a blast. You also see new sights, smell some things, and always wake up to the birds singing and not the bustling streets of the city. Camping is my go to activity.

In the beginning of third grade was so exciting because I will get to see my friends. But when I got home my parents told me and my brother that we are moving. I was really excited at first because it was my first time moving.

The most important game of the year was coming up and I was ready. Everything was going perfect for me, because I was the starting QB as a freshmen at Englert High School. We were playing Joston High School the number 1 team in the nation since 1960, it was going to be a tough game because they had the number 1 ranked defense, but we had the best offense. The day before the game was just a normal day I went to school and had football practice after school. A couple weeks ago one of the other teams that we had played earlier in the year wanted another game so we decided to play them. They had been the hardest team we had played all year, we had only beat them by a last efforts field goal it hardly went in as it bounced in off the crossbar.

The hour and a half was up. My mom and brother were going to the front doors, when she got a call from my dad.

I heard a feminine voice call out to me as I blazed out the front door. "Good morning Amber! Oh, where are you--" I cut her off with a sharp slam. I couldn't look back. With each step towards my car, I inhale painful sobs of air. I feel as if I don't know who I am, as if I was that 18 year old girl hearing the news of his death for the first time. I couldn't think of the name that belongs to me, or any one else but my father. Any face my subconscious offers had the resonance of a total stranger, then was replaced with the haunting image of

We walk back to the shelters to get some sleep, and I sit there awake for a minute until my father falls asleep. In the morning when I awake, my father is very sick, so I take him to the doctor. The doctor rejects to help because he is a surgeon. I take my father back to the shelter to let him rest some more. I leave him to go outside to get more coffee. I think back to all the things me and my father have been through. Losing my mother and sister will always reply through my head, remembering them holding hands and moving off to the left, and my father holding onto my hand, and we walking away from them. The last thing I got to do was just look into there eyes and turn and walk away. Once I got back I found my father not there. I knew where he had gone, they had taken him to the furnace. I dropped to the floor wanting to cry, wanting to have a fit like a normal teenager. Deep into his feelings he thought “Free at last.” He was free to only think about surviving, and not to worry about anyone but himself. I will miss my father. I love him. I will never forget how much he did for me, he is the reason why I am still

I was walking to my house after a long day of school. All day I was waiting for this moment; To see my dog. I walked inside. I saw my dad, which was strange because he was never home. I look around. There was an empty dog bed, covered in brownish-red fur. My sister’s head was in her hands, she was shaking uncontrollably. I turn towards my dad, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow. I set my backpack down and search for my companion. Being the insensitive and ignorant child I was, I ask, “ Where’s Duke?”. My dad glanced at me making direct contact. The words I was about to absorb , were almost deadpan. He replied monotonously, “ He’s gone.”. The only word that can explain how I was feeling was numb. I hadn’t realized the stumble backwards into the wall, or the tears shed, not even the comfort I was trying to be given. Though I thought that this was going

In late September of 2010, was the year I learned a new word “Depression”! I was in 1st grade and everything was fun because I had no responsibilities or worries. I didn’t know how to feel grief for a long time because I was always happy. I didn’t know that a family member could own a child.

Sitting in the front seat of my bass boat casting a spinnerbait, the weather was perfect. It was about 55 degrees and sunny. After reeling in about a three-pound bass, I thought I would be ecstatic, but I wasn’t. Something just didn’t feel right, kind of like when you’re about to do something very scary and your stomach turns in nervousness. I drove back to the cabin/house and went upstairs. I knew that whatever was about to happen would permanently change my life forever.

It was one of those oddities; though identical twins, they had celebrated different birthdays: first, Molly, born on April 1, 1972, at 11:47 PM, and second came Megan on April 2 at 12:17 AM. Their parents, Meryl and Bill, thought it best that the twins celebrate on their own days and had always held separate parties for them. Bill adored “his girls,” and Megan was probably his favorite. A parent shouldn’t have a favorite child, yet, they all, more than likely do. It’s either the one that they’ve carried some sort of guilt about, for one reason or another, or the one that highly reminds them of themselves. In Bill’s case, it was definitely Megan, he enjoyed her spunk (a quality he thought missing from the other two children). It was his attraction to her high-spiritedness that had Meryl, on countless occasions telling him; “You are letting her get away with

My mom’s anger over the dog upsets me. Last Friday my mom and dad were trying to clean out Spenser's ears. My mom could tell he didn't’ want his ears cleaned because he looked hesitant from the beginning. Right when my mom stuck the first cotton ball in his ear, he started to majorly crawl. My mom threw her hands up in frustration and huffed outside to the front porch where she sat for 20 minutes until she came back in grumbling under breath in annoyance. She was afraid he was going to bite her because he has done that before with my sister. My dad tried talking to my mom, but she just kept yelling. I could feel the thick air from all the stress and tension. SInce my mom gave up on trying with Spenser, she brought up the fact that she

I was raised in a Christian family and home. My father was one of the three first black policemen in the area and my mother was the housekeeper of a prominent family. My grandmother was one of the mothers of her church. I am the youngest of five siblings. Likewise, at the young age of nine years old, losing my parents influenced my journey with God in many ways. Our mother had us in church every Sunday. Additionally, we were involved in all the youth programs such as the Usher Board, Youth Choir, and the YPCL. So, when they passed I couldn’t understand why God would do this to me while I was so young (taking everything from me).

The day after the terrifying phone calls we finally received the phone call from the hospital saying that they found a medication that might work. It just might help the baby and me survive this thing. So me and Jeff went back to the hospital immediately after the call ended. It was silent the whole ride there, it was an awkward silence like

A call at three o’clock in the morning is never a good call. For me, it felt like it was almost the end of the world. BZZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZ……BZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZ. My phone rang three times before I finally became conscious to the sound. Still in the midst of being sleep, I looked at the very bright screen that read MISSED CALL FROM MAMA. BZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZ. In a groggy voice I answered “hello”. “Deja let me speak to your father” my grandmother said frantically, her voice was trembling. I could tell that she was trying to sound calm but she wasn’t fooling me. “What’s wrong mama” I asked. She didn’t explain anything to me but just requested to speak to my dad. I knew something wasn’t right. “Okay” I said