The Story Of My Mother's Story?

As an eight year old kid in the 80’s I remember watching the movie Popeye by Robin Williams. “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.” I sang this tune in my head and out loud over and over again. I even added lyrics to suit me., “I’ll be want I want to be, I am what I yam.” It may be my first attempt at being true to myself, a self-identification, a personal statement and a compass of sorts

After my brother Isaac got a hook in his finger, we had to stop fishing a little earlier than we were planning. But when we got to the car,... Mother had disappeared without a trace. We didn't know where she was. The car was sitting there, empty. This was unbelievable,nothing similar to this had ever happened, where did she go?

My mother was the person who traumatized me as I grew up. I was called out of my name, ugly, and fat. I walked on egg shells when my mother was at home. When I told my father of what she was doing he didn’t believe it, because when he was around she was kind to me. Nothing I could do and say was good adequate. I was beaten, burned and cursed for being alive. I was a premature baby and when I was born if it had not been for my father I would be dead. The doctors told my parents by me being so small they could not guarantee that my vital organs would function properly and my mother said well put her to sleep. My father said well if she dies it will be on her own and I survived. I was a six-month premature baby and I often wonder if my mother

Today Victor left for Ingolstadt. He just left but hours ago and I already feel the vastness of my cousin’s absence. It’s hard for me to see him go for I have been within his presence for as long as I remember. It must be hard for him to go as well, especially with the recent passing of his mother, my dear Aunt Caroline. I feel partially responsible for her death; she caught the sickness from me. I am still so very thankful that the sickness did not take the same hold on me as it did her. This family has never seen the sadness we all behold now;I doubt we could take even one more. Justine has taken the event very hard as well. She was very close to my dearest aunt and tended to her when she became sick. One look at Justine in the past and all your sorrows would flit away but now I feel she needs the comfort. She has been neglected over these months for the focus has been on our closest family members instead. I must retire for the night and

Today I came home from school and found our maid, Maria, in my room. I was angry, but I still spoke to her as nicely as I could, because Mother tells me to. She was packing my things, so I thought I must be in trouble. I turns out that Father’s special job is somewhere else, so we have to leave our five-story house and go with him. I don’t want to leave our house, especially since Karl, Daniel, Martin, and I had a lot of plans during the summer holidays. Mother says that I have to say bye to them and that I’ll make new friends, even though I don’t want to.

I have lived 14 years, and I encountered many people who majorly impacted my life. Many of which taught me some of the most important values I have today. In the short story “Thank You Ma’am”, the protagonist, a young boy, attempts to snatch an old woman named Mrs. Jones’s, purse. Consequently, he falls over and the woman picks him up and screams at him in a disciplinary sense. The woman then takes the boy to her home to get him cleaned off and to feed him. She talks to him and understands why attempted to snatch her purse, and gives him money the money he wanted for new shoes. By the end of the story, the boy promises the woman to behave himself. Mrs. Jones impacted the boy's life greatly, as she surprised him with an act of kindness after he tried stealing her purse. My greatest influence in my life is my mother as she strongly impacted me through my 14 years of existence by helping me strengthen my faith and morality, helping me to build great characteristic traits, and she sets a great example for me to become a good mother in the future.

My life seemed normal until my mother died. Before this happen, I was happy to spend time with my mother daily. Every day I went to work and came back home on my lunch break to eat lunch with my mother. I loved my mother because was my best friend. I could talk to her about anything and she would listen to me. She was a sweet and loving mother and I always enjoyed having lunch with her. My co-workers would get upset with me because I never stayed and ate lunch with them.

Reality was whispering to me. My vision blurred, and it wasn’t from tears. My sensations stopped working as the hospital hallways grew dark. I grew mad at myself, wondering why I wasn’t crying like my family. Darkness started to consume me, and the whispers in my head told me what I needed to be answered. I didn’t want answers. I screamed in my head that I’m too young to learn now. My ignorance drifted away, leaving me alone with reality welcoming itself into my head. This was the day that I was forced to realize what I never thought could of happened.

Yet, my mother’s burst of tears instill a sense of guilt for my failure to understand my mother. At that moment, as a son, I gave her a little massage and words of comfort. A few days later, I overheard a conversation between my mom and dad that led me to speculation for why my mom, a person who never cries, cried. Eavesdropping their conversation from my room, I heard my dad saying “She did not want to do it, but she was not here anymore, so move on”. At first, I had no idea who my parents were referring to. I had the scary thought in my life: one with .001% chance of occurring. After my mom left for the shower, I asked my dad, “Did my grandma commit suicide?” My dad finally told me the news. My grandma had jump

Since I was a little girl my mother always taught to be strong, but in a mannerly way. She had to grow up quite fast, because she was born into a warzone, which made her very independent and strong at a young age. In our culture, it’s unusual to have a friendship with your parents because it should be more of a private relationship. Thankfully, my parents and I had an open relationship about everything and get to express my feelings without having to hide them. For my mother, she witnessed things kids her age should not, she gone through things many did not, and she also suffered a lot of pain and deaths of her loved ones. “I remember being so scared of my mother’s corpse, and I had to ask myself why I was scared, the woman lying there is my mother,” she said as she was reminiscing about her mother’s death. I wondered to myself of how it must have been for her; but she continued on to tell me the story. “A few months later we lost your uncle and we didn’t worry because we knew that mom was up there waiting for him, but then we had your oldest brother and he died from an overdose on malaria vaccination when he was only seven months.” Hearing her going through that made me feel like I got stabbed in the chest. I just sat there and thought about how empty and lonely she must have felt during those years. She later told me, “sometimes we lose the big things in our lives so that our eyes can open up to all the little things we take for granted.” Anytime I would

In the hills of Mississippi, on a country road outside of small town named Eupora, is a small house on a hill surround by one hundred acres of land is a small three-bedroom house owned by Levi and Cordie Sellars the parents of my mother, Vera Mae Sellars. The birth of my mother was a hard one because she was breach and the doctors worked hard to save her and my grandmother. The doctor loss track of time during the birth to record her time of birth on the late night in July and the early morning of August so her birth was record on August 1, 1944. I

When I was at the age of three my mother was a very beautiful woman with the vicarious thrill of being a mother of two. My father who worked efficiently at his job of employment but yet was rarely at home to savor the joy of seeing his son’s very first steps. Living as a mother she often grew dreary of his actions; the feeling of depression and loneliness slowly crept upon her. On my fourth birthday my father of course worked once more, so my mother felt banal and brought him a piece of cake at work. As she walked through the doors she realized that another woman was perched upon my father's lap, and with this she grew furious. The red dress she wore complemented her face as it began to alter its color into a darker shade a red. The more she pondered on the thought of the hurt and pain she felt at that moment the more she realized what she needed to do not knowing that it would affect the life of her kids dramatically.

Any women can be a mother but it takes someone special to be a mother. Having someone in your life who means so much to you is a blessing. My Mom, Fatima was born on June 4, 1973. Moving to her appearance, I could say that the way she acts says a lot about her personality. She is the kind of person that is interesting to listen. Every time I listen to her, I learn something new. The moment she had me in her life was also a blessing for her. Im her third daughter. She is someone who cheers me up while I’m feeling sad. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Her smile is the only thing that will make me happy throughout the day. Her guiding hand on my shoulder will remain forever. Ever since her childhood, my mom was taught that

The most surprising thing about my mothers' story is that she lived. While hearing my mother’s story I got told one calamity after another. Privilege is always earned on someone’s else’s suffering. My mother and father suffered for my privileges, therefore, I will also pay for my children someday. She was 9 years old when she came back from school one beautiful sunny afternoon to be greeted with guards that put her mother, and her 5 siblings in a circle in the center of the house. The guards pointed rifles to their heads and took my grandma to question her about my grandpa and his job. My mother tells me about how those rifles stared her in the eyes as if they were asking her "any last words?". My grandpa was a rich young guy who owned an

I was heart broken because Mom had finally convinced Dad to move back to Canada and it was in my 17th year just when I was sitting my Highers, the Scottish exams to say you had graduated from High School and madly in love with Philip. We sold our beautiful house and had to live with Dad 's Aunty Rose in a one bedroom house. All four of us and Aunty Rose living in a one bedroom house. What a nightmare. Aunt Rose and her neighbours loved to gossip. They preferred my sister, Talida who was “so much like, dad” and they hated me “ so much like my mom” It was because Mom and I were outspoken and unwilling to put up with their crap and Talida and Dad kissed their asses. One day after school, I overheard my Aunty Rose and her