Personal Narrative: Coping With Death

During my childhood and early teen years I did not think much about death, because I never experienced it and my parents never mentioned that topic. Death was not something that I necessarily feared only because I never had to think about it. I only thought of death as something that happened to older people and mostly to people on television. Furthermore, I never thought of death happening to me or anyone in my immediate family. Consequently, I had distanced myself from death and for several years managed to ignore my own mortality. It was not until my teenage years that I began to develop anxiety and fear of death after living through certain societal events such as mass shootings, terrorist attacks, and killings of people of color.

As a child, I knew nothing about loss. The closest think I had known about loss would be my dog dying a few years before. I was devastated and I cried forever, but it was nothing compared to when my brother died. The loss of my brother to suicide taught me more about life than I would have thought. I learned that death is different from when I was a kid than it is now, also how I cope with it and relearn about death each year that passes by.

The red flashing lights eluded the oozing thick, pasty, dark crimson liquid, which cascaded from their warm bodies on the floor imprinted dirty with footsteps, creating a puddle children could play in. I tried to look back, but a gust of steam emerged along the hallway, burying each dead body like it was a funeral. It delivered an urgent memo that I had to run, not for pleasure, but for my life. Too many times today have I stared death directly in the face and too many times have I gotten away from the inevitable daunting truth that lurks through the shadows trying to drag and crush me under its weight. I can safely say that compared to running forever, dying doesn’t seem that bad. But I can’t give up, and I’m not going to give up. I need to

What is death? Why do people die? How can learn to accept the fact that one day we will die? Death is something unexplainable. Everyone has a beginning and an end. Some people cope with death differently, through sadness, anger, and confusion. The death of a loved one hurts so much, words can’t explain the feeling. Although that pain is not physical some can say that emotional pain hurts as much as physical pain. Once a person dies it’s a chance for people to reflect on what they did while they were alive. How many people they helped or how friendly they were to people. On June 18, 2016, I experienced death for the first time. I was not very close to this person but he was someone who really impacted my life and my families. I just never realized how much he meant to us until that second Saturday of June.

“Goodnight!” She had shouted from two doors away. “Night, grandma…” I whispered. She had suffered from cancer many times before, but this one could be the end. I never thought about it that way, I just thought she would live forever. That everyone could live forever. I not at all thought that death would hurt this much or that it would happen at all. But I was way wrong. Death does happen. To everyone. Even the nicest people you meet could die the next day. And that’s what happened.

“The worst part of grief is that you can’t control it. The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes.” My uncle Dave is a big part of who I am today. When I was a baby I lived in New York. None of my family lived there with us, we moved away from everything we knew. Every other month my uncle would drive all the way to New York just to see me. He would bring me presents every time, he loved to spoil me. He would bring me anything that had Scooby Doo on it. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it was, I loved Scooby Doo. He knew my mom hated Scooby Doo but that didn’t stop him. He thought the fight was worth it, just to see me smile. He would do anything for me, even if that meant hearing my mom rant for hours each and every time. He knew I wouldn’t remember the little things he did for me but that didn’t matter to him he still went out of his way to make sure I was okay. He was my hero. One event can change who you are forever.

Funerals are usually attened to after a loved one has passed away. A living funeral is unique and can be seen a singular experience. My living funeral would be held at my house from two to five. The decor would very simplistic. My closests families and friends would attend wearing bright colors. We would enjoy a variety of foods, vegetables and fruits. After we eat we would gather around each other and share memories and stories. Afterwards an obituary would be read by my sister. The obituary is as follows Valy Yaldo, passed away after living a wonderful,short life on October 12, 2017 at the age of 17 in Coldwater, Michigan.She was born on August 14,2000 in Iraq. She was daughter to Dina and Athir Yald. Valy was also a sister to Merna Yaldo,

sometime i believe thatthere is always somthing waiting for us after our lifeb end but wht if it doesnt ent what happended if you wake up and you are reaborn what happends then. i have been hearing lodes of stories about death and how its going to feel when you die but in my opinon in sared of death and im am afrade of a lot of thing but death has to be up the top you could die tomorrow or msby in 20 30 years but know can really know what it feels like and with me my life is pritty boring and i mean boring i build my own life up the way i would with it to be not like all the fancy cars and the house i mean the sories and msking them funnyer and way better so make my life more intreasting and sometimes it will catch up with me as i said

The death of me begins at six o’clock in the morning; as I reach to violently smack the snooze button, my mom comes in urging me to get up, get dressed, and rush out the door to make the bus for early bird chemistry. I run three blocks to catch my only mode of transportation to and from school while eating my breakfast and contemplating whether I did all of my homework, remembered all of my supplies, and have everything I need for swimming. Once the bus comes to a screeching halt at New Trier Township High School, the foreboding fear encroaches. I dread every moment walking the two blocks to school down the leafy Winnetka Avenues anticipating the anxiety in my ten period course load. After going through the motions of all ten

I marched out of the school with my younger brother after a insipid day. Everyone was having conversations about what they are going to do over the weekend and what wild and insane event had taken place in their classroom. As I trotted across the crosswalk, I had my last words with my friends and other fellow students. I was taking the regular path home, keeping my head down, until I noticed my dad’s silver, slick sedan.

This one time my grandma was surprised when me and my dad walked through the front door after my dad got back from being deployed in Iraq. My grandma's death was hard when I found out by my mother. She pulled me into her room and told me that she had passed away, it was a shock at first because I was thinking that she would pull through and be home in know time. I started to cry like a normal person would, it was so hard not to tear up again after

As I walked through the door, I saw two mysterious figures. I walked closer and noticed that one of the figures was my boss, Mr.Boddy. The other guy was gone and Mr.Boddy was dead. It looks like the other guy jumped out the window and left his weapon behind.The weapon he used to kill Mr. Boddy was a dagger. I think to my self where is the phone I must call 911. I find the house phone and dial 911, ''hello 911 what is your emergency?'' ''I came home and saw two black figures so I walked closer and didn’t see the second one but I did see my boss, Mr. Boddy lying on the ground dead but the other guy was gone and the dagger he used was lying on the ground beside Mr. Boddy.'' '' ok where are you at?'' said the police.

A husband, father and incredible warrior who held strong, endured unimaginable pain and courageously fought to hold on to every last moment of this life. The similarities to my own loss stir painful memories of my darkest hours. I knew going in, there would be numerous triggers layered into this day. Never the obvious, so I cannot prepare. I do know they often strike without warning, a curve-ball of sorts that take me off guard and often pack enough punch to send my spiraling back down the rabbit hole. And yet, even knowing this high probability of personal pain, I still felt compelled to go to this funeral and celebration of life…and take my kids. The support of loving friends and family can be incredibly powerful and immensely healing at these mournful events.

I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of an ocean trying to reach the shore except I can't swim and every time I get to treading above water a wave comes and knocks me back under and I can't breathe yet again so I fight. I fight so damn hard but the harder I fight the more exhausted I become and I give up. I welcome death. I wait for the waves to carry me to a peaceful grave. To save me from this battle I am losing. But the worst part is this whole time I've been surrounded by people swimming. All of them telling me I'm just being lazy and maybe if I just tried harder I could swim. No one gives me their hand to pull me above the water. No one tosses me a life raft. Everyone just yells for me to swim but I don't know

As a young healthy person living in a medically advanced world, death had never been something I’d given much thought, at least regarding what it would really be like. It occurred to me, in that moment, that when I died, that would be it. I would be gone, I would cease to exist. My stream of consciousness would terminate, and the little world that is my mind would disappear forever. This, of course only caused my anxiety to increase, and nearly sent me into a panic attack. I could not comprehend the concept of stopping, of my thoughts, and perceptions simply ending. I could find no comfort in logic, for it was my logic that lead me to this conclusion. This realization caused a shift in my thoughts that bleed into every minute of my waking life. Each day seemed more solemn, and I carried with me a weight that hung heavy on every part of my mind. I spent hours obsessively racking my brain for a way out, an answer that didn’t fill every fiber of my being with electric panic. It was in these frenzied expeditions for comfort that I considered altering my world view to include an explanation of death that could sooth the hurricane that stormed in my mind. Despite myself, however, I could not let fear and panic lead me to dishonesty in my own