Personal Narrative: My Father's Death

When I was a sophomore, my dad had a life changing injury. This changed how I viewed the world and life in general; I witnessed firsthand how fast life can change. It went from happy times to 30 days in an Intensive Care Unit. From being able to talk to my dad every day to seeing him in a hospital bed on life support. The steps it took for him to get where he is today, from 30 days in ICU, to another month in the trauma unit, and 2 months in rehab made me grow as a person and begin to realize the true value of life.

I wait at the door. I put on my solemn, grim face, I cannot let these children see me as a soft women. I am anything but that, well I guess I am, but we all need to hide our inner emotions some how. My useless husband, Hans, mumbles, “I see the car”. We step outside, most people think Hans and I are crazy for opening our home to these two children, but every little bit of money that we can earn helps. Plus, they can help with the laundry, I think and smile.

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

Stan and I first met at a Pet Supplies Plus in Chardon, I remember originally being a little weary of him because of his awkward disposition, but nevertheless we became fast friends. Stan was a small vibrant fellow with a love for swimming, but one day Stan was attacked by a fellow named Kyle. Suddenly the Stan I once knew and loved was gone, he no longer possessed a love for swimming and the vibrancy he once had was no longer there. Seeing Stan rapidly deteriorate, I realized I needed to emotionally prepare myself for his imminent passing. To come to terms with this notion I went through three of the five stages of grief.

Some people seem to grow up knowing exactly what they desire for themselves in regard to a career path; I, personally, have never felt that way until recently. I was born and raised in the beautiful town of Munich, Germany, by the most loving parents one could possibly have. My childhood was blessed by the fact that I was surrounded by people who cared for me and loved me deeply and unconditionally.

I experienced a devastating moment on December 21, 2013. Alex and I were childhood friends who grew up playing basketball and we were always writing poetry down. But it was a difficult environment where we lived because there always a fight going down, illegal substances, and even worse someone dying. Alex died from severe gunshot wounds. After I heard the news about him, I cried like a pouring waterfall. My tears dropped down to the ground and then the dirt turned soggy. Alex’s death was one of the most devastating times in my entire life.

When I was a kid in Lakewood Washington I had always loved Halloween and going trick or treating. I was going to be a ghoul that year and I had just gotten home from school and I said “Mom, mom where are you.” and I see Torin my little brother in his crib crying my moms door was open and I walked in to look for mom and I see her dead in the closet hanging.

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.

I sat in my silent grief and awaited the start of the funeral service. I struggled to hold back the grief; tears flew steadily and silently down my immobile face. I felt bruised inside, numbness, emptiness, as I walked behind dad’s coffin. Although he is gone already, my soul unwilling wants to acknowledge the finality of death, thinking about how I will never be able to look upon his face again, see the warmth in his eyes,

My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.

Have you ever wondered who these people are that keep you safe everyday? My dad was one of them. He was in the Michigan State Police for twenty-seven years. He has helped save the lives of many people.He started working in the MSP even before he met my mom. He eventually married her and was working nights.He worked everynight to protect us. You. Everyone. Every night, when you were asleep, he was out working. Working to protect you. When he had a kid, my brother Logan, he was still working nights. He had to move from place to place, taking his family with him so he could do his job. When something bad happened, he was there to protect you. Even when you wanted to hide in your house and not come out, he was there to protect you. My dad is an amazing person. This is why my dad is my Michigan Hero.

Families greeted each other with hugs and small talk while the children were running around playing tag, it did not seem like a memorial service at first. Then, the light atmosphere immediately dropped and like sinking lead, a somber nostalgic mood saturated the crowd. The chapel became so quiet in a matter of seconds that a penny dropped would leave an echo. The ceremony began with prayers and catechisms. Then, the first guest speaker went up the stage. He started after a long pause. As he told everyone his experience as a father, I could feel his heart ache and yearn for his late daughter. As several guest speakers poured their feelings and sentiments into their stories, I felt the similar heavy weight in my heart. Everyone

No one that I’d loved so dearly had ever died. The whirlwind experience of waiting for my parents to come home, watching my parents, aunts, and uncles plan a funeral, and then missing school for both the wake and the funeral was exhausting. The jam-packed schedule did not give me time to contemplate and understand what had happened. In fact, those first few days after my grandfather's death were the easiest as they were a distraction from the truth. Attend a wake, accept condolences, attend a funeral, accept more condolences, and then go home being too exhausted to have any further thoughts than “I want to go to bed”. It was the calm after the storm that hurt me in the long

I first realized my parents mortality when I was in the fifth grade. I was in the basement of my house, watching TV, when I heard a frantic call from my father telling my sister to call 911. My mother had been taking a shower, but she passed out and fell to the ground. My father heard her fall and rushed into the bathroom to investigate, and found her lying on the shower floor. I ran up the stairs in a hysterical panic, while my sister was on the phone calling an ambulance. Every time my mother would open her eyes they would instantly roll to the back of her head. We got my mother into bed and I went to the kitchen to get water and we forced her to drink it. Pretty soon, she came to, and we canceled the ambulance. We huddled in with my mother

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.