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Personal Narrative: My Mother's Death Of Me

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She follows me into the dining room, unaware of the hell on earth we're about to experience. My parents are sitting at both ends of the long table. Janka and I sit across from each other at the sides. My mother is wearing a bright red dress, and my father in his best suit. My mother has lit candles on the table and used good china, we never eat with such formal attire.
She speaks in a warm tone.
“Uzi, would you like to start passing the food?”
From across the table my father barks. “Let the boy make his own decisions.”
“What if he wanted to make introductions first?” My mother glares as if a demon sits across the table. “ Don’t be so rude.”
“I will act consequently to the situation, Let him make decisions on his own merit.”
“Not everything …show more content…

My mother died from blunt force trauma, many hard blows to the frontal cortex. I'm told the fire started from a lit cigarette. It must have dropped after the fatal beating and set the house ablaze. My father, in his rage must have not realized, shaken by the revelation of what his poisonous wrath brought upon him or I. He succumbed to smoke inhalation shortly after. I guess by a twist of fate that was my mother's last swing at him. I can’t seem to feel the depression and misery that should have overtaken my mind by now. I almost feel relieved that neither of them has to struggle with each other anymore. I never thought my father to be as violent as the music he created that made him. I try to think of my fond memories of them and realize they’re so few. The negative ones start to seep in, almost reliving them. The yelling, demanding, and forceful nature of them trying to manipulate me to their own selfish desires of what makes an adult worthy of pride. I start thinking about the views they held so dear and I come to my own conclusion. Is it right for a man to become strong and demand respect, proud of the efforts that he wipes from his brow? Is it right to be empathetic and live through passions, letting emotions replace logic? I think both are wrong. It is imperative to be a strong leader, always striving for progression. Never the less, also important to use that power for those we are passionate about, whether it be a spouse, friend or for self. Maybe when you deny those things and join the warring duel between power and sensitivity, you become a frigid ice queen or a rage-filled demon. Always bent on the destruction of the other. On my eighteenth birthday, I decided to appease neither. I would live as I saw right and wrong. My emotions can’t hinder my strength nor my power diminishes the valor of my passions. I knew I would always have Reinhardt and Janka by my side. Everyone looks forward

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