1. Why did you choose the event you did? I choose the remembered event of my Brother’s death because it is by far the most explicitly vivid image in my mind. I also found that putting my thoughts on paper was some way therapeutic to what I have been carrying around for the last 15 years.…
Every Christmas Eve our family gathers around the coffee table in our apartment in New York City. During the day we go to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and buy chocolate candies from the Greenwood Pastry on the corner. Uncle Riley leads the way as we walk the streets until the light begins to fade between the office towers and the crippled gargoyles forever perched on the corners of the buildings that illuminate a golden age gone by. We laugh together and reminisce about the previous Christmases we have spent together. The elevator seems quieter on these nights, almost as if it has a respect for the holiday, but I know it’s just because we’re all crammed in there together.…
I came back for my sister’s funeral, I haven’t spoken to her since I left; I haven’t really spoken to anyone since I left. It’s only now that I treasure every moment I had with her, every word I said to her and every word she said back. Her son came to pick me up from the airport, the whole trip back to the house was silent; not a single word was spoken, I could only hear the gravel from the road flick up under the tyres. Funerals here were different to funerals in England, it looks like the whole town was here! As I stepped inside the familiar home I once knew, I could hear the clatter of plates and bowls and the chatter that seemed endless.…
The morning of Saturday November 1st, 2014, I woke up to three hundred text messages and twitter notifications all notifying me that my friend, Dominik Pettey, was killed in a car crash by a drunk driver the previous night. No pain had ever felt so significant, it was crippling, but then instead of pain, I was numbed by the inability to grasp that my friend someone who I just had seen the night before, was gone. I ran the words “Dom is dead” through my head on a loop but could not bring myself to accept it. That week, although I was still here, facing such a tragedy, everything on earth seemed so insignificant, going to class, homework, midterms, everything. I woke up every morning wishing it was just in a bad dream and that noise would never cease because that is when it hit me the most, silence, when I didn't hear Dom’s infectious laugh or when he wasn't telling me that, “I am Kiera Wainer and deserve the best God can give”, which he used to say anytime I was upset, the first time he said those words was the second worst day of my entire life, it was the day my dad left for his new family.…
The Day My Dad Died It all happened 7 years ago on July 17, 2009. My dad became sick whenever I was 9 months old e always had to go to the hospital every morning at 8 or 9 for ____A month before he died he went to Dr. Casey, and got some medicine that could affect his kidneys. The doctor didnt even check his kidneys and throughout that month no one told me what was going on with my dad. I went to his house like I normally did, but he wasn’t the same anymore.…
A Loss Too Well Remembered This was a rather interesting assignment, one that I did not believe I would able to complete. I had so many ideas of what I wanted to write about, that is until I remembered my best friend. My very first best friend was more like a brother to me.…
Statistics are mathematical equations. They are numbers. They mean little to me. Statistically, there is a 000000001% chance that you are the person that will read this essay. And yet, here you are.…
When the doctor told me that my unborn child did not develop arm or legs, my heart dropped. You could imagine my excruciating heartbreak finding out the bad news. There was no holding back the tears, no matter how hard I tried to cover my emotions. That day I was supposed to find out if I was pregnant with a boy or girl, not that my child had a severe birth defect. Regularly, I thought of the things my son would not be able to do; crying because I felt remorse for him.…
The death of little sister A significant experience can be defined as something that has happened in the past and is meaningful to an individual because of the impact it had on them. Everyone has a significant experience that is either bad or good in which are dealt with in very different ways. As for me, I have a significant experience that devastated my life. It was on July 16, 2005, I woke up to the voice of my mother crying hysterically in her bedroom. Without hesitation I rushed down the hallway.…
It is September 1st. School is starting really soon for me. I was discharged about a week ago but am still pretty sore. Every thing I see in the corner of my eye scares me and makes me scream, thanks to that dreadful foreboding night. I’m scared for Aiden and my unborn baby regardless on what the police officers said.…
First, I want to thank you all for supporting us during our loss. Thank you, everyone, for being here at short notices and making time to honor our father during your busy schedule. It has been a difficult time for us. Thank you for being beside us throughout it.…
My first experience with death occured when I was 4 and my great-grandfather died, although I was not that affected, as I was too young to really know what was going on and I wasn´t really close with him in the first place. When I was 10, my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, and he passed away two years later. This was my real first experience with death, as I was affected deeply, as was my family too. Whenever my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, they found it in the fourth stage, which is the worst stage, he started treatment with hopes that he would get rid of the cancer.…
I do not remember exactly the particular day but all I remember was that it was very humid and the sky was cloudy. It was just a few days before I joined first grade and I had just arrived home from my neighbors. I was utilizing my last few days of freedom and hence was tired and hungry. I had rushed home looking forward to my grandmother’s food and playing time.…
I awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the sunlight seeping through my curtains onto the pink walls of my room. Being eleven years old, I was not yet a teenager who slept in; besides my family unfortunately had a funeral to attend this saturday morning. After putting my long black dress on, my parents and I sat down to enjoy my favorite breakfast; french toast. My mother always made the best french toast; crispy, warm, and covered in powdered sugar and cinnamon.…
It was a cloudy Wednesday morning and Martin and I drove from Manhattan, New York to Stamford, Connecticut for his Uncle Kenny’s funeral. Along the way, the scenery changed from the crowded city streets and apartment buildings to lawns, trees, and private homes. As we headed north on the highway, I couldn’t help but think that it was years since I have seen Martin in a suit. My husband hates suits, but he made an exception for Uncle Kenny because he loved him so and was honored to be a pallbearer.…