“I just don’t know if I can do this anymore,” she continues. “I’m trying. I really am, but—” She is still talking, but I can’t listen to her anymore, I have more important things on my mind right now. Looking down at my drink, I see my reflection. Is that really what I look like now? That can’t be me; I don’t even recognize the man in my drink. His face looks sad and tired. The man in my drink is a man who has given up and completely shut down. The man in my drink scares me. That can’t be me.
“Jesus! Are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, of course I am.” Her interruption has startled the man in the glass; he is gone before I got all the answers I wanted. “Honey, I am fine. I really am. I promise. I am getting a lot better.” That is a blatant lie, but what else am I supposed to tell her. She wants to hear what she wants to hear.
“I know you are, but I’m still concerned. I just want my husband back. It’s bad enough we lost him, but I don’t want to lose you.”
I can’t stand to see her like this. I have to help her. “I am here. I promise, and I am not going anywhere,” I say as I embrace her. I can’t help but look over her shoulder. There on the dresser is a photo of him. I miss him so much.
Staring at the blank screen on my computer the next day, I see my reflection again. What happened? I used to be a great worker. I got along with everybody. More importantly, I was good at what I did, but since his death, work has just become a formality, part of a vicious cycle. I want to work like I used to, but I can’t seem to get back to that mindset. My mind knows too much, has felt too much. Everyone says that work will help me get back to normal, help me get back into a routine, but so far, it has just hurt. Every time I try to focus on ...
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...ids anymore. In the dream, I am telling my wife that I have to work on Saturday, and she always says, “Really, but it’s Saturday, and you’ve already worked so much this week.” What I say next changes from night to night, but it is always along the lines of, “I have to work. You know we have this project do in a month. Can’t you just be supportive?” God, why do I say that? My wife has always been supportive, especially during that time. I think I was stressed trying to come up with an excuse so she would let it go, and it did because she always then says, “Fine, go do your work but, can you at least pick your son up from basketball practice at six?” Why did she have to give in so easily? I wish she would have chewed me out for how was acting. If she had done so, maybe things would be different. It is unfair for me to blame her though. What happened was not her fault.
He turned his head toward me and peered at me through swollen eyes. “I begged her not to go with him,” he said quietly. “Do you hear me, I begged her!”
A family either plays a positive role in one’s life leading to their success, or a negative role leading to failure. The love and concern from a family is very important in determining the prosperity in life of its members, and without this support, a person will only face adversity. In Fall On Your Knees by Ann-Marie McDonald, the Piper family, primarily the father, is responsible for the sorrowful life of the Piper daughters. The disappointment in life of Frances, Kathleen and Mercedes is due to lack of love and nurture, inadequate parenting and over protectiveness.
“Are you who I think you’re?” I regained my thoughts and stopped what I was about to do. I gently turned around and a stream of sweat rolled down my face. This man was studying my face extremely closely, too close for comfort. “You're the one who saved that guy from drowning in this exact river” I froze, not knowing how to respond.
There was a hint of worry in my voice as I said “She is okay and has received some medical help.
chooses to listen to hear but when she tells them “ I feel better, I
In the essay Breeds of America by William Melvin Kelley he talks about his experience being a black boy growing up in the Northeast Bronx. He talks about his experience with racism and his identity being a black boy in the early and mid 1900s.
With a concerned look on her face, “I’m sorry babe, I wish there was something that I could do to make you feel better.”
"No you're not. It's going to be okay. Remember the four year old we saw going on?" I embraced her tighter and it was then that I realized that I'm horrible at comforting
“I’m sorry mam but as I said before we have it under control trust me.”
Suddenly, Sara's light step halted and she turned to face me. From her hazel eyes blazed an intensity of exhilaration and courage, which mingled with pride and concern as she surveyed my resolute expression. I watched longingly as Sara unfastened the Nalgene bottle from her side; one sip of water sloshed tantalizingly at the bottom of the bottle, heightening my senses into acute desire. Sweat poured down from my face, biting at my eyes, and after I dabbed at them with my shirt, I saw Sara was presenting the water bottle to me. Both anticipating and squelching my refusing, Sara said simply, "Drink, Stacy. Yo...
“It’s alright my son. You are safe and at the hospital. The doctors assure me that you’ll make a full recovery,” he spoke in a voice for once warm and seemingly with a hint of pride held in the distance.
“I am your husband,” I told her. As she lay there in the hospital bed, her face appeared worried and she looked as confused as a lost puppy dog.
He stood up, and turned to her. “It’s going to be alright. Whatever it is, it’s going to be alright.” He smiled, and walked away.
“We are working on our relationship, I love my wife. She is entitled to a few mistakes. After all, we are only human. We will be attending counseling, as we are very much still together.” He seals it with a kiss, as the cameras flash. Then pulls her into a car.
"'Never again.' That's what I said to myself. 'I never want to feel your kind of pain again.' Just when I think it's over, just when I think it's through... I find myself back in love with you."