Personal Narrative : My Dad 's Dead

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 once read a book about a guy who believes that everyone gets a tragedy at some point in their life. I never thought this could be true, because some people have great lives, and even if they do not how would they decide what the single hardest moment was? Recently my father passed away, and I realized you do not get to decide, you just know. This had been the hardest point in my life, however, the same book taught me that good things can come out of any bad experience if you look for them. Before I could see that I had to deal with many things, such as realizing he was really gone, going to his funeral, and going back to school. I also had to cope with the fact that I would never have the chance to change the relationship I

Losing a loved one is a hard thing, it tears you down and break you into a million tiny pieces that can ever be but together the same way again and although you try to forget the pain it will always haunt you for the rest of your life. Death is something that leaves a mark in your life and can never be forgotten because it's forever ingrained in your heart.

My father committed suicide after the 2008 financial crisis. He felt that the lump sum of money from his life insurance would mean we would not have to bear the weight of his debts. This left my mother to pay off what was left and raise four children (two of whom were in constant legal trouble). She put one of my brothers through flight school (costing tens of thousands of dollars). She then put my other brother through a masseuse school. She's also co-signed cars for my brother and sister meaning unknown future costs could be devastating. Worst of all though is my medical issues. Starting in middle school I experienced constant violent vomiting which even to this day affects me. It forced me to drop out and then complete highschool in three

(I was re-reading and noticed i didnt put age anywhere im 16.) Alright well I'm not sure why I'm on reddit venting this dosen't really feel like the place, but on Sunday morning my grandpa died. Here's the story on Friday night I was going to go to a football game but some weird surcomstances allined and I ended up not going I was in my room playing CS GO and my mom came in the room and said that my Grandpa collapsed and was being taken to the hospital and they thought he had a heart attack, but that wasnt the case. My mom and I got to the hospital and where sitting around fro a while then my sister showed up a while after. There was a lot of sitting and wondering then I was told I could go into the room I followed behind my sister she looked him in the eyes and said I love you he said I love you

So about three years ago my aunt past away and my entire family attended the funeral. For those of you that know my immediate family (the Hairston clan) you know that nothing good could possibly come this happening. I'm going to tell a story that is 100% accurate with no exaggerations what so ever. This story will be long but well worth the time. It involves a black cowboy, an elderly Jamaican man, a borderline racist grandmother and three asshole brothers.

Hey dad I'm writing to you because I feel it's easier and it gives you more time to think. I wanna just tell you how I have been feeling lately and what I'm going through, okay here it goes. Ever since I was about 12-13 I've noticed that I never had any feelings towards guys and it wasn't till I started hanging out with a close friend of mine that I realized I really did like her. I noticed every little thing about her, I worked out her flaws, I could be myself around her she made me feel safe. The day I actually confronted her about it she said it was disgusting and that she couldn't be friends with me anymore. It hurt a lot that someone would say that and so from then on I didn't say anything about it I kept telling myself that I liked guys but all I did was lie to myself and I don't wanna do that anymore.

“Prove them wrong” When I was in fourth grade my dad and brother and I were playing basketball at our house, to help my brother practice. I had never played basketball except against my brother, Brayden. My dad would always be our referee and it was a lot of fun. Even though I never beat Brayden. Brayden didn’t think I was very good, and he would have to play easy on me instead of playing as well as he could have played. It really annoyed me I wanted to be as good as him or better because I wanted to actually have a chance to be better than him at one sport.

“Ya son las Cinco y media,” is what my dad would say to me everyday during summer. We would go up to Redlands to this avocado groove to pick avocados. Under the big, tall, leafy trees we would work until our bodies couldn't take it anymore and needed a break. We would work under the hot scorching sun, our faces dripping in sweat until 3:30. I would always get home tired knowing the same thing was waiting for me the next day.

On March of 2015 my godfather died from a heart attack, that was the second death that had occurred in less than an year around my family in the United States. My mother is from Honduras which is currently one of the most dangerous countries in the world, at least once every four months she gets call that someone she knew has be killed over there. The belief/religion that I was born into was christian-catholic, but that was immediate challenge once my godfather died.

A family member’s death is very hard to get passed, makes a certain person depressed.

When he releases his hold and gets up off the bed, I cough. "Thought you said I couldn't fool you with that." I grate out with a smile. His smile relents a little, but then he just stares at me. His eyes rake all over my body and back up to my heavily exposed cleavage that this dress gives me. My skin crawls and I attempt to change the subject.

It was a cold December night Dad had locked me out of the house it was better than the

Separated from my dad nine years ago wasn’t really right, I was born torn from my dad for the rest of my life. It was hard to understand why we were; moving to Atlanta and my dad wasn’t coming along. What was going on in my head was my mom was just thinking of herself and not thinking of the rest of the family. Me and My sister was thinking who would we live with for now on but my mom was determined we was going along with her. My parents were born in the Caribbean of Trinidad and Tobago. They have been together since high school up until the year of 2004. My dad got an soccer scholarship and came to America to North Carolina later on my mom got an track scholarship and also came to America but to Mississippi.

When I was in, I think 4th grade and I was playing around and I was called to the office and I didn’t know what for. Was it my dad or mom? Was it someone I didn’t know? Was it just my sister? I had no clue what was about to happen.