Personal Narrative: Changing My Mom's Decisions

Mom had always been the provider of the family. She worked at a failing elementary school as a reading recovery specialist. She didn't care so much about the money as much as she cared about her school kids. She was a very loving person who wanted her school kids and her actual kids to succeed in life. Mom was 5’2 and weighed one hundred and two pounds, she also had short brown hair. Her eyes were the color of the sky. Your mother cared so much about you in particular because you were the oldest and hoped that you’d go off to college and travel the world. Your father, on the other hand, was nothing to look at. He stood at 5 feet and weighed one hundred fifty pounds. He was bald, sunburnt, reeked of pot and lone star beer. He was in the military

As I sit down waiting for my mother, I look around the room that I am in seeing the light brown carpet contrasted with the orange-red wall, as well as our white lab who lay snoring loudly in front of me. My mother finally sits down on the couch, and collects herself together so that she could listen to whatever I had to say. Angela Olberding, a loving mom to three children has always been very cheerful and kind to anyone that she encounters, even though most of her life she has not been given back that kindness. She works as a special Ed teacher in an elementary school for the Queen Creek district, teaching math, reading, and writing for children with disabilities. She wants to get an administrative job, and has applied, but for now she happily waits and teaches her students. I have no idea how she can balance out her workload, as well as be a wonderful mother to my siblings and me.

On November 17,1989 my mother Juanita Renea Ohlinger went into labor at 6:00 A.M. she was in labor for 12hrs. She laid there in so much pain at Providence hospital until Dr. Kendal Foster showed up and told her she had to have a C-section because her pelvis would not expand. The nurse hooked my mother up to monitors and willed her to the operating room, my father Raymond F Smith was dressed in hospital operating clothes. Dr. Foster began to open my mother’s womb and pulled me out at 5:25 pm.

After my mother and I have an argument she usually smiles at me and says, it’s because we’re so much alike that we argue. She reminds me that our lack of communicating often stirs more trouble than why we were arguing. I used to get upset that my mom didn’t set time aside for our family to spend time together or make us eat together at the dinner table. I was upset because I was comparing our family to my friends’ families. I valued those things and assumed my mom didn’t, but I was wrong. My mom had so much on her mind everyday it was breaking her on the inside. Not only had I wanted my mom to be like my friend’s moms, now I had wanted my mom to be different because she was depressed. Bonhoeffer mentions that we desire images of others that we want, but aren’t the true image they bear as Christ’s (pg37-38). At first I was puzzled. How is a good image of mine, not Christ’s image for her? I learned that His image is neither right nor wrong, but simply uniquely divine. My mom could have done those things, but her whole life would have had to be different, and I would never want to change who my mom is.

The second degree burns all over my mother's left arm and torso would debilitate her for months to come. As a young fifteen-year-old used to having basically everything done for her, I suddenly faced more work and responsibility than I ever needed to consider beforehand.

The train station wasn't to far from my apartment. It was only a short walk away. I took it to see my mother every other weekend because she lived alone and needed the company. I stepped out of my building with an over night bag in hand and began walking through the cold air. The branches over the sidewalk had no leaves in them. Everything was bare and dead because of the brutal winter cold.

It’s easy to fall in love with the feeling of being numb, the feeling of euphoria. Some people who experience this high have the ability to say “never again.”, and move on with their lives. Others crave that feeling, helping them escape reality. My mother was one of the most severe cases that many doctors and other addicts have ever encountered. She started using when she was just a young teen, maybe about thirteen or fourteen years old. It wasn’t just one particular drug, but many different types. If she couldn’t get high, she’d get drunk as hell. She used to lie to doctors and psychiatrists, faking certain symptoms to get prescribed whatever drug she wanted. A lot of times, it actually worked. She’s been diagnosed with just about every type

Quickly picking up my limp mom. they laid her down on it and put the stretcher in the ambulance my dad helped me and my sister up into the ambulance then he got in. The paramedics shut the doors then got on the ambulance. As they drove us to the hospital all i could think about was a life without my mom and how terrible it would be. I loved my dad so much but things would be a lot different without my mom. The thought of who would do my hair, who would tuck me in, who would make sure that my outfit looked ok, who would pick out the best looking shoes for me, and who would give me her pretty lipstick. I started to cry without showing it. When we got to the hospital they grabbed my mom on the stretcher and ran her into the hospital. My dad got

At the age of sixteen I became a mother. Not literally but I had to take responsibility for my six year old brother as if he was my own son. Our own mother was diagnosed with Schizophrenia, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Bipolar Disorder . We did not have a mother , she refused to seek help and the place we called our home became unbearable. She was careless , distant, she was would keep us up with her yelling and made up fights. She would threaten us and leave for as up to a week at once . I was the head of the household. I cooked , cleaned , helped my brother with homework, took him to practice and made sure my mother’s image was not ruined in his innocent mind like she had ruined it in mine . I became subject to her emotional verbal and once physical abuse. She targeted me more than anyone once she noticed that her son favored me more than her. All this while being in my first

As a child I did not understand the candy-coated excuses I had been told about the world I lived in, I knew there was a larger situation I knew nothing about. I later learned why it was harder for my mother to do things, why it was harder for her to work all day then come home and play with me; I later learned my mother was bipolar. I had to understand that mom would retreat to her room with no warning and would not come out until the next day, had to understand that it was a normal thing. I can admit that I was blessed as a child, as long as you do not look too long, we lived a comfortable lifestyle while both of my parents were working and life was easy for me and my sister. But that was only when I was a small child, one day would be

My mothers death changed me. I knew I had to change and for the better. I didn't want to waste time. I couldn't mope around and wish that her death wouldn't happen I couldn't change her death. Two days after her death I went back to school and began working nonstop. If my time was precious then I was going to make it count. Instead of watching t.v alone I would study, my G.P.A rose. I started going out spending time with friends and family. I went to school dances and participated in events because as much as the term is over used you only live once. I was making memories to last a lifetime and along the way I was building a future. I didn't realize at the time that my nonstop work was helping me build a resume. All of the extracurricular

One day in the year of 2017 I've cut because I felt that I wasn't getting loved by my family and that no one would listen to me when I wanted to say things. I’ve cut and I tried to hide it from everyone but one day my mom asked me to get her juice, so I got up and I gave it to her, but she saw my arm and she said “what is that” I was quite and walked away. My mom loved me so much that she told my step dad and we went to get lunch with my sister. We were sitting in the car waiting for my dad's truck to be fixed and he said “so why are you doing that stuff.” I started crying and I told them all my feelings and why I was cutting, suddenly my mom starts to cry and my dad was talking to me still, am watching my mom cry when I started to realize

As a young child, my mother always taught me to help those in need. Not in hopes of anything in return but because you never know what people may be going through. I have always given a helping hand wherever I could. Whether it be helping my mother around the house, being the teachers helper for the week, or simply helping a friend in need. In my younger days, I wanted to be a lawyer. My goal was to help as many people I could stay out of trouble. Being that my mother was a nurse, I changed my career goals to follow in her footsteps. This way I could help the sick and ensure that they would be healthy and happy. I attended my first year of college at the College of Charleston and they did not have a nursing program. Still determined to help

I never imagined my life to be the way it is now. As a child, I was blessed with a happy, healthy family and enjoyed childhood in Mexico. My parents made a decision when I was 14 that redirected my life to where I stand today. My siblings, mom, and I moved to the United States. My dad, on the other hand, stayed in Mexico working. Our lives changed drastically in all aspects.

Despite all of the obstacles my mother has faced, she always strived to become successful and take care of her family. The youngest child and only daughter of six children, she is a first generation college graduate and the first person in her family to attend college. After completing her masters degree in education, she taught at the high school level for thirteen years. After that, she was a distance learning teacher at Kamehameha Schools Maui for around six years.