Personal Statement : ' Do Not Tell Anyone '

An older boy remembered his father, a hardworking blue collar man. He remembered how his father would walk into the home each evening with scraped hands and perspiration stained shirts. His father was a tough man. He was the kind of man that refused to go to the doctor and rarely hugged his children. Yet, he was a good man. The boy remembered how his father provided for the family and often times his smallest actions proved his paternal love for them. One particular memory stood out among the rest. His father had returned home from work late one evening. He had been out celebrating his pay raise with some of his co-workers down at the local pub. He waltzed through the door bursting with

September 27th 2009. I was on my dad’s weekend and my mom was in the hospital for a weeks. I would visit her every day and sometimes bring her flowers. But on september 27th I woke up and walked into my living room and my dad was sitting on the couch looking sad. I asked what was wrong and then a knock was heard on the door it was my step dad and half brother. My step dad had puffy eyes he was crying. He told me to sit down and my brother came out and sat next to me. My dad looked at us and he spoke up your mother had just passed this morning. I was shocked I was hurt I was scared.I didn’t know if i should cry or run away. I’ve learned that losing someone you love is tough.

I had a wonderful childhood. My parents took care of me. We went camping a lot. Bills were always paid on time and food was always on the table. The best thing my parents did for me was get me a lifelong friend. A german shepherd for a best friend, protection, and a caretaker. It was the best gift of all.

On January 5, 2009 my father pasted away. He and I did not have the typical father-son relationship; we did not have a relationship at all. I presumed that it would have a little if any affect on me. However, as the semester continued, it seemed to get worse. Besides my father’s passing, several weeks later my grandmother was diagnosed with dementia. It was difficult for me to deal with, but it was more difficult for my mother to handle.

I loved my childhood. I loved the neighborhood I grew up in and the friendships I made even though they didn’t last forever like I expected. I loved running around barefoot with my sister, wrestling

Not long ago, I was involved in managing a patient with terminal cancer. Near the end of her life, I visited her. She held my hand and said something I have never forgotten: “when I see you, holding my hand in the last moment of my life, I realize you are my true son.” I was moved by this. It felt like the fulfillment of my purpose – though I could do nothing to save her, I was able to give her at least the small amount of comfort.

Two years ago today, my father passed away in a tragic accident no one foresaw. The night before he passed away, he came into my room and told me that he had a secret and a present to give me.

My father tends to joke about serious subjects. So, when he told me that my mother had been involved in a car crash, I didn’t believe him until he repeated it several times. I don’t think anyone in our family has been the same ever since. We’re continuing to deal with the aftermath four years later, and I’ve just begun to accept that it will never be over. Sometimes I go to sleep thinking that she’ll be back when I wake up, the same old Mom, but I’m always disappointed. The stages of grief aren’t linear. I keep going

During the fall of 2016, just as the new school year had started, my mother left for Vietnam. She flew out to Da Lat, Vietnam in mid-October for a business trip and told me she’d be back in two weeks; it had taken her five months to come home on March 13, 2016. Growing up, she had always been there for me, whether it was a choir concert or my First Communion, and experiencing her leaving for just a few months had felt like she was genuinely leaving, abandoning us. But, somehow my grandma, my brother, and I made do during this bleak time to manage ourselves, the house, and the horrific bills that came every single month. It wasn’t easy to do all that and find a way to get ourselves to school; we often had to rely on several relatives on

Mom was in her late fourties and suffering from a terminal illness. My family gathered later to talk with hospice workers about how we could make Mom the most comfortable. Her physical needs as she went on from this lifetime were crucial to us, but we were also set on honoring mom's heart before cancer had touched her.

My stepmother had just given birth to her firstborn child. Still recovering in the hospital, she was advised of his death. At home, my 8-year-old sister and I watched from a distance the arrival of two dressed soldiers. When we returned home after playing outside, our babysitters sat us both down on the couch and told us that our father had been killed. My sister and I would neither meet our new baby sister nor would we be able to say good-bye to our “Momma” Claudia. We were then driven from Tacoma, Washington to our father’s funeral in Spokane, Washington, our hometown, where our paternal grandparents lived, to attend a full-dress military funeral. Afterward, we would be sent to Oklahoma where we would transition from Army to Air Force to live with our biological mother who would re-gain custody as a result of our father death. She was remarried Air Force with two new little babies to care for. We would become their caregivers, and our mother’s housekeepers. There would be no system of support and our own psychological needs remained unmet by an addicted, alcoholic mother and our new stepfather. Our father’s death was completely glossed over, and it became uncomfortable to discuss him in the “new” family. Two years later, the posthumous award of the Congressional Medal of Honor would stir up memories in my older sister (11) and I (now nearly 9), where we would stand

When I think of my childhood, I think of music. I think of my parents’ tape cassettes and CDs and my dad’s guitar. I think of all the times my mum sang along to Kate Bush and Joni Mitchell on the stereo while I played in the living room, I think of how my dad played guitar and sang Oasis and Stereophonics. I remember admiring my dad, the lead singer of a band he created with my uncles and his friends, and wishing I could be just like him.

as my hands moved from his sholders and down his chest. He then revealed to me that Balaris, my home country, had stopped sending tribute after many years. I instently knew that Grayson was decieving me, and excused myself to the restroom to comtimplate the situation. I questioned Grayson, but he disconected our communications. Rationally, I decided to abort the mission. I returned to Jim Young, apoligizied for the situation, and politely asked for a private jet back to Balaris. He hesitated until I expressed the potential danger of the matter. Instantly I was escorted to a jet, and headed home to confront Grayson. But it was too late, by the time I reached Balaris, Grayson had fled the country. It was brodcasted on worldwide news, and not a single person ever reported his whereabouts. I demanded to speak with the vice president, but was informed over the phone that he refused to speak with me. Confusion and curiosity overwhelmed me as I headed home to see my mother. When I arrived at my small aged house, my mother wasn 't there. I paicently waited, hoping she would return home, but I never saw her again. The following day, there was a knock at the door, I ran with excitement expecting it to be my mother. To my surprise, it was the vice president. He asked to speak with me, and during our conversation he professed words that made me question everything I knew about life.

We went indoors and climbed the stairs excitedly to enter the kitchen. After pouring ourselves a heavenly glass of water to overturn the summer heat we took a seat on the couch. I heard familiar steps patter on the back stairway and soon my father came into view trudging through the living room. His face held a somber expression. I raised my eyebrows in confusion. I couldn’t understand what there was to be upset about on such a pleasant day. My father locked eyes with me and held something back in sorrow. I became worried and almost alarmed at his reservation. I could’ve never prepared for the words he would say to me.

My mom died from depression a few years after she had me, but before she died she told me that I’ll most likely find you in this location. Now that I hear with you I realized that I should have never came over here. I don’t care if you are my father!”