A Wound He was my father. However, to me, his only daughter, he always had been and shall forever remain, my daddy. That morning was like any other, or so I thought. “I will get up, eat some breakfast, and then go to Mom and Daddy’s house,” I told myself. Snow had fallen the night before and I was not excited about driving on the ice-covered roads. As I began to get dressed, my phone rang. It was my baby brother, Paul. His voice was heavy with concern. I will never forget his words. “Sis, you need to get here as quickly as you can. Dad is bad and I have called for an ambulance,” he said. Calling for an ambulance and hospital stays had become commonplace as daddy’s disease had started to progress rapidly in the past few years. He suffered …show more content…
A hospital bed now occupied the space where the couch had sat for so many years. Beside the hospital bed sat his oxygen machine, which for the first time in quite a while, sat eerily quiet. The wheelchair sat empty. “This is not real. This cannot be happening. When am I going to awake from his horrible nightmare?” These were just a few of the thoughts racing through my mind. My life, our lives, were forever changed. My family and I were forced to adapt to life without the man that had always taken care of us, even into our …show more content…
The way he would kiss the back of my hand and his secret handshakes. I don’t know how he knew, but at the times when I needed it most, he could call me to come see him. He would take me over to the side and say, “Sissy, I don’t know what’s going on but I feel led to give you this.” He would take my hand into his and slip me something. These were his secret handshakes. Usually it was money, though sometimes it wasn’t much. Sometimes it was exactly what I needed. Then there were the times when he was his usual trickster self and he would slip me a piece of candy. Daddy always had a piece of candy in his
Before I started school, he and I would enjoy each other's company as he ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. He would stop by our house at lunchtime and would sometimes let me go along to deliver the mail. I loved going with him because it made me feel very important and needed. My dad would hand me stacks of letters to put into the mailboxes as we went along the route. I would even skip school some days to go with him.
The funeral was supposed to be a family affair. She had not wanted to invite so many people, most of them strangers to her, to be there at the moment she said goodbye. Yet, she was not the only person who had a right to his last moments above the earth, it seemed. Everyone, from the family who knew nothing of the anguish he had suffered in his last years, to the colleagues who saw him every day but hadn’t actually seen him, to the long-lost friends and passing acquaintances who were surprised to find that he was married, let alone dead, wanted to have a last chance to gaze upon him in his open coffin and say goodbye.
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
One rather beautiful day I head down to the building fields of Uruk with my only son Urnabe. He is 14 and he is turning out to be a skilled mason or at least better than his old man. When we get there I see that Binfem was already waiting for me.
anything from me but to be my friend. When I drank beer at lunch, he didn't
As I walked up the short, stoned stairs attached to the side of the hospital I saw tobacco splits on the walls and I could feel the horrifying smell of the hospital outside. When I entered the door, I saw a man sleeping on the ground with his duffle bag as a pillow. As I walk down the hallway I could see rooms on each side of me. Patients were lying in metal beds with a thin mattress. There was a tiny metal table next to each patient with their medicine and water. There were two to three patients in a single room. As I approached to reception, a long line was formed with sick patients waiting to be treated. I couldn’t see what was happening in front. These people were lacking a basic necessity we all need. I asked myself what I could do to
Dink — dink — dink — dink. The faucet in my kitchen was leaking water and stopping it was growing more difficult. The drips first came in thirty-second intervals, then faster, until the water became a steady stream of drips. When sitting on the sofa, my favorite spot to watch TV, I could hear the sound of the water hitting the steel sink. As the frequency of the drops increased, so did my frustration. Each time I used the faucet there was a battle to stop the drip. Once I stopped the leak, I would declared myself the victor. I thought I conquered my foe. Gone was the noise, no longer would it torture my nerves. Or so I thought. Like cancer, the noise would return, tiny droplets crashing down upon the sink like boulders. This interminable
There once was a man named Franswah, and he had a wife named Keisha. They both lived in Keithville, Atlanta. They had a little girl named Jasmine, she was twelve years of age and she attended Ghettoville Jr. High School in the seventh grade. Keisha never did like doing anything, so her husband Franswah decided to go out and have an affair with a lady named Shay. Franswah and Shay worked at a law firm together. Shay was his assistant, she always helped him with things and they always went to lunch together. So some nights he never came home or either he came in late. Keisha was never the type of person to just argue, she mainly just questioned him to see what the response would be and she left it alone until the next morning. So one night when he came in he had a funny odor and Keisha asked him what was up with the smell, he told her that he had been working out and got sweaty. Their daughter Jasmine had very high blood pressure, so most of the time she didn’t go to school because of her condition and she stayed ill. Keisha had a younger sister named Ashley, she is the rowdy type that doesn’t care and will tell anybody anything. Keisha was telling her sister about Franswah coming in late, having a odor on him and don’t want to be questioned. So one day when Ashley was over there and he walked in she confronted him and told him if she find out that’s its that he’s cheating on her she was gone handle it. So he got mad and started hollering at Keisha for telling her sister about what was going on in their relationship. Then that’s when Ashley came back and told him that she can tell her anything she want to tell her because that’s her sister. So few minutes later the phone rings and its was Shay. Keisha answers the phone and it was another lady’s voice, and she asked to speak to Franswah. So she asked her who is calling and she told her that it was Franswah’s baby mother. Everyone is in shock, so Ashley gets on the phone and started getting rowdy. Ashley was asking her different questions like how old is the baby, where she live, and where did Franswah and her meet.
The people who I look up to is my mom and my dad. Ever since I was born, they helped me with my problem that I have. Every day after school my mom would help me with my homework, because most of the time I don’t understand my assignment, that she knew how to do some math work, because I would forget how to answer my math, while my dad is at work. On his days off me and my dad would sometimes go fishing in the river or a lake, because he would like to spend time with. Other times we would go hunting for deer or bird, because it would be boring if we didn’t do
A father who only came to see me once a month because he had a real son, a son that was born the right way, out of love. Not out of lies and greed. Because of my mother, I was a sin, a guilt, a mistake visited once a month.” He trails his fingers down my arm, down to my wrist, laces our fingers. “You were mine.
I had been in hospital rooms many times before, but this was the first time that I was the patient anxiously awaiting their results. I sat on the hospital bed and nervously kicked my legs back and forth as I stared at the door, willing the doctor to walk through it. After a long wait I grew tired of this, and shifted focus to my surroundings. I had been admitted to Scottish Rite hospital, a branch of the Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. Being a children’s hospital meant that the nurses wore cartoon print scrubs, the walls were painted in bright colors, the televisions were always turned to either Disney Channel or Nickelodeon, and everyone treated you like royalty. They did everything they could to mask the fact that it was indeed a hospital. However, I was too old to be fooled. I knew exactly where I was and what that meant, and that was that nothing good could come from being here.
When he tries to sleep, the nightmares come. His dream is about Elizabeth, whom he tries to kiss in the dream. When he does make the attempt, Elizabeth changed and he appears to be holding the corpse of his previously deceased mother in his arms. His mind is attempting to warn him that what he has just brought to life will bring pain and suffering to not only him but the friends and family he loves that surrounds
I stared at her unmoving body as we entered the room. She was passed out and peacefully lying in the hospital bed. What I noticed right away was the fact that her appendages and face were very swollen and discolored. Otherwise, she still looked the same with her curly and short cut, white hair. Machines surrounded her bed and crowded up the space of the room. They made a lot of noise and I avoided them for fear of accidentally tampering with them. However, I noticed how they added some weight to the situation. Scanning them over, I realized just how much the hospital had to do to keep her alive.
Growing up, my father’s absence played a major factor in my stride for success. His absence was the scapegoat for why I always felt like I may not be good enough – or why I’d be looked at as an outcast. I’ve always made it my first priority to overcome his negligence by attempting to do my best in school – earning good grades, joining school clubs, giving back to the community. However, never did I receive the recognition I’ve always dreamed of and never was I satisfied with my outcome, but never did I think that I would find through the one who seized it all.