Walking Through Life Can Be Hard

Have you seen my husband? Is all my mom was shouting as she held my hand tightly, running back and forth through the hospital? A receptionist sent us to a room, which felt like coming into an isolated mausoleum. The cold air enveloped my entire body, ice has replaced my spine and numbness is all my fingers felt. The room was somber dark, dead silence; the only sound heard was the heart machine ... Beep … Beep. There wasn’t anything more traumatizing then seeing my father lain on the bed, unresponsive, tubes coming from out mouth and nose. The sadness and desperation in his eyes broke my heart. All of sudden the heart monitor went off with a loud buzzing sound. A nurse jumped out of nowhere “Code Blue”, in matter of seconds 4 nurses and a doctor surrounded my father, my mom and I mindset was at a shock, like were able to see what was happening but couldn’t do anything our body was some glued to the floor. The doctors and nurses tired to help my father but it was too late,

The stench of death hit my nostrils as I opened the door to go inside, which is why I always hated going to the hospital. We waited the fifteen minute queue, until I heard my name from a nurse. I followed the nurse into a small, beige room. I sat down on the examining table, as my doctor walked in. I told him my symptoms, and he did a quick check up. His cold fingers pressed against my lower back. “Breathe in and out.” He said. I did as told. “Slower.” he exclaimed. At that moment, while I was slowly breathing in and out, I could hear a small click every time I inhaled. The doctor looked up and said, “Ahhh, you seem to have pneumonia.” He explained to my mom and I what that meant because we were clueless. After he finished, he told us that if I waited any longer to go to the hospital, he wouldn’t be speaking to me, which opened my mom’s eyes finally. He told me that I couldn’t go to school for at least another two weeks, gave me a school note and my prescription. We left the hospital. My mom dropped me off, and went to pick up the medication. As I lay in bed, I remember thinking about everything that has happened to me in the past two days, and what the doctor told me. Those thoughts were interrupted by the opening of my bedroom door as my mom walked in. She handed me the medication. I swallowed the pills, and fell asleep. The next morning my mom walks in with a stack of papers. She said, “It’s alright if you’re not able to attend class,

When I woke up in the morning, my mom had left for work. My dad was singing in the kitchen, banging pots around. I got up, tiptoed down the hall, washed my face. A neatly wrapped present lay on the bathroom counter. It was addressed to me. I stuffed it into my robe pocket, and rushed back down the hall. Under the covers, I opened the package. On the first page of a small, leather notebook, an inscription read: to a writer, love your mother. I never wrote anything in the notebook. I could never think of anything good

I crippled down into a pit of confusion and sadness. Although this happened often, it always seemed to hit home hard as the months progressed. I arrived home and tossed myself into the soft comfort of my bed. Curled up into a ball, I tightened and released my grip on my white covers repeatedly, my body slowly dozing in and out of slumber as I watched small ripples in the outdoor pool shine upon my bedroom wall, the moonlight brightening it. Slowly the whispers began developing, and I allowed them. I needed to listen, they crowded my mind and maybe they were all right. So, there I sat in the silence. Jabbled words filled the room, they seemed to be everywhere. Woman, children, and men. I tensed at the words, trying to make out what they were telling me. In the background faint noises played, either from past songs the band and I had developed or ones that just kept coming. Threats or sarcastic remarks, occasional words remembered from my parents or enemies. They kept coming, intensifying by the second, getting louder and louder, until the point where... I snapped. I sat up and screamed into the darkness, pulling at my hair and kicking my feet, as if I were having some kind of a toddler tantrum. My breath quickened and my nose wrinkled, like how it always did when I got worked up. Slowly, and then all at once they stopped. My mind gathered in the silence, and I slammed back down into the pillow, turning my head into it, screaming once more until

I could not walk near the window. That was a rule, because they were afraid that I would fall out of the window. On one of these walks, mom started by saying “You probably want to know the fire about the fire, right?” I pushed the oxygen tank ahead of me which was my way of saying yes without speaking. Mom understood and started telling the story: how the fire started, where exactly it started, the normal stuff. I had been wondering why dad had not visited me, and now I know. Dad was dead. He died while saving me. He threw me out of our burning house. But just as it happened a burning section of the wall caved in on him so he had do escape. No more building projects, jokes at the dinner table, or Dad at football games. The firefighters found his body, resting against me in his office. He knew that he needed oxygen, but he let me live by not taking the oxygen and giving it to me. I felt the sting. I killed my

I jumped through the kitchen door with the intent of regaling my family with a tale of the firetrucks and ambulances which raced by me during the bike ride in pursuit of their own mångata, but the thought elapsed as trivially and quickly as the vehicles had passed me on the road. Instead, I waved at Mom and Dad watching TV in the living room and headed upstairs to the rhythm of the sirens stuck in my ears. I've always abided by the theory that my bedroom should be a zone solely of relaxation, so I was a little startled to hear the phone binging: “Jake Robertson just died in a car accident,” the screen told me. I pulled up the covers, and my head hit the pillow before the truth hit my

It was 2:00 AM and I was working 3rd shift that night, it was lonely and dark. I was the only one here. As I sat in silence the phone rang I picked it up not expecting anyone to be calling because I haven’t had a call in years. When I picked up the phone all I hear is a deep soft whispering, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Every second the whispering got louder and louder until there was a high pitch screaming. I slammed the phone down on the receiver with a rush of adrenaline. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was going to burst, (the reader takes a deep breath to build suspense) agin I sit in silence, waiting for something to happen. I was so paranoid I didn’t know what to do, my mind was racing, do I leave or do I

The next thing I know I am getting a phone call from my mom, I answer it immediately and hardly make out her words “You and your siblings need to get down here now, I’m afraid it isn’t good. The machines started beeping and then nurses came in and whisked your father away.”

Last December, I came home from practice to find my mother on the floor of the living room, hardly breathing. I dropped to her side, begging her to tell me what was wrong, and she whispered that she was having a heart attack. Upon hearing that, my actions became erratic; I was hyper-aware of my heart, of time, of the phone I could not keep still in my shaking hands as I called for help. After waiting in painful apprehension, two paramedics would walk in, put my mother on a stretcher, and carry her out. I would give them her prescription medicine and wrote down the name of the hospital she would be going to. Then, they would take her away, and I would be alone in a house of utter silence. Something about the silence allowed me to ruminate over

I breath between tears with at least some hope that my mother will still be alive when I hear a moan on the other side of the bed. I gasp when I see her face down I pick her up and I hold her in my arm and she coughs up blood and between little murmurs I catch her telling me that she loves me and that I need to be strong when all of sudden she stops breathing. I stop to sob because for some reason I forgot who to cry instead I held my mother. Sirens get louder and louder when the front door opens and a bunch of people come in repeating into their radios “two people down and one alive” and five people surrounded me ask me “are you okay” and I just look at them with confusion why would ask me that when it was clear that I had just lost both of my parents. They took my mother away and took me to and ambulance outside of my house. As I was close to the ambulance I look over at the police car and found this teenaged boy who look at me with fury that when I realized that had to be the boy that killed my parents everything went black and just felt my body drop to the

Have you ever felt abandoned? Like somebody who matter to you and they left you and never came back well this happened to me and this event has shaped me. My mom left me when i was 4 and i barely started kindergarten and i didn't know she left me. After a while when i was growing i learned three thing that taught me many things while i was growing up and i still am. My second thing is that everything happens for a reason no matter what happened. My last thing that is that if you ever feel abandoned just know that there is always going to be someone by your side even if you might not expect it.The three things i learned is that when someone doesn’t love you, you just have to move on even though it may hurt.

My mom had called me three time, each time her voice grew with annoyance. I dropped my Barbie dolls that I had been playing with for the last hour. They dropped to the floor puled on to each other with the same plastic smiles looking up at me. I sped down the stairs like a cheater looking for its prey. When I reached the bottom a whiff of dinner hit my face. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It smelled like mashed potatoes and chicken. I resisted the urge to go check and went straight to the living room. The T.V. was on and seemed to have my brother’s full attention. My brother was seven years older than me and we shared a striking resemblance. My mom and dad were next to each other on the opposite end of the couch. My mom had a pillow

Tears come streaming out of my face and my hands start throbbing. I run to the bathroom and take some long deep breaths with little hiccups in between. My shaking hands make it to the old Nobbs in the restroom. My hands tremble in agony as I turn on the water. The water is so cold. It stings when the pressure of the faucet touches the red gashes in my hand. I lift up my shirt and see blood clumped all down my back. A scratch about 7 inches long covers my back. More tears come out of my eyes as I try to wash the blood off. I pick at the tree bark sticking out of my skin. It hurts too much so I stop. I began walking back to the trees my shoulders are droopy and my face is puffy. My voice is quiet and I voice the few words that I'm ready to go home. Every step my legs carried my lifeless body. I cried on the walk home making my eyes super puffy and red once more. Tumbling through the door my mom ask me why my shirt is ripped and drenched in blood. I try explaining the story but my voice is so trembly I start crying again. She helps me clean my cuts out and puts some gauze on it. The rubbing alcohol stings and bubbles as she pours it in my hands. After the moments of pain, I began to feel better. The white tape around my hands looks like I am a professional movie star boxer. Thinking this makes me giggle and I start laughing at the hammock story and why I should have waited to get the nicer once everyone else

“Ring, ring, ring! Hello? She did?! Thank you lord!.. Wait what?... Oh okay okay...We're on our way!” Says my dad in a shaky loud voice. I could hear my dad from the other side of the room because the walls are thin as paper. I hear the bed squeak as my parents get up from their bed. Their footsteps sound like elephants. I hear my door knob being graved and the door opens. My mom comes running into my room and then I knew something was up.

Everybody in this world has disadvantages and obstacles throughout life, however those disadvantages and obstacles can be turned into something good. Disadvantages can vary , whether you play sports , or you’re an actor. You can make that disadvantage your determination to prove people wrong, and let them know you can succeed with or without disadvantages.