Brilliant white snow rushes under my skis making a soft crunching sound. The wind blows through my dirty blond hair, carelessly tangling it. The smell of pine and fresh snow permeate the sharp frozen air. Beams of sunlight cascade over the powdery slopes, creating a whimsical sparkle. I hurl down the mountain. My mind lost in the moment, taking in every ounce of scenery. What I failed to notice was the large patch of ice ahead, masquerading as harmless snow. I expeditiously continued on my path toward the hidden ice. From an outsider's point of view, I imagine I would have looked much like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel after my skis finally reached the ice. About seven hours later, I wake laying on a stiff bed in a strange …show more content…
dark room; my head pounding so ferociously I can hardly think. A metallic taste—strangely reminding me of paperclips and blood—saturates my mouth. The smell of cleaning supplies fills my nose as I take a deep breath in. “Is she dead?” I hear a small voice whimper from across the room.
My stomach sank. Oh God, was I dead? “No Braden, she’s not dead,” a deep voice, belonging to my dad, reassures my six-year-old little brother. I try to pull my hands toward my ribs in an attempt to sit up, but in return: an excruciating pain shoots through my left arm; a shrill sound comes out of my mouth; and tears start flowing down my face. “Emily!” I hear a familiar concern-filled voice matched with a pair of light hurried footsteps growing closer to me: both of which I assume to belong to my mother. I struggle trying to sit up to greet her, but she gently pushes me back down on the bed. Lacking the strength to fight, I give in to her touch. “Where am I?” I question …show more content…
wearily. “You’re in the hospital in Denver, Colorado,” my mother replied. “What happened?” I inquire in confusion, racking my brain for an answer to my own question. “You hit a patch of ice, fell, and slid about thirty yards; where you crashed into a snow-drift fence post. Your left humerus snapped in half during the crash,” she explained with a quivering voice. I laid in silence for a moment, trying to process the information. I could clearly hear my mother's shaking breaths next to me. “Why don’t I remember?” I manage to whisper.
“You hit your head pretty hard. The doctor said you have a traumatic brain injury. He said you probably wouldn't remember the accident, or much else for that matter...” her voice trails off. I can hear her sniffling in between her soft sobs. Suddenly a sharp pain in my temples hits me like a tsunami, consuming all of my thoughts. It feels as though there is a knife in both sides of my head. I clench my teeth and shut my eyes in agony. Taking notice of my pain, my mother breaks down, “I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I thought going skiing would make a great family vacation. I thought this would be a fun New Year's day and now you’re in the hospital. I wanted us to start 2013 in a cool way, but this is a catastrophe. I'm so very sorry. If only I hadn’t insisted on the trip…” She continued loudly wailing, increasing the sting in my temples. “Mom, it’s not your fault,” I faintly breathed, almost completely overtaken with pain. I extend my right hand to her in a last-ditch effort to calm her down. I feel her lips gently press against my forehead, bringing with them a few wet teardrops. Finally the pain completely consumes me, and all my senses fade away along with my
consciousness. Even today, almost three years later, I endure daily migraines and battle with my short-term memory, or lack thereof. Two surgeries, one bone graft, two metal plates, sixteen metal screws, and a year later my arm finally healed leaving a gnarly scar behind. Most people would be ashamed of a scar like mine. But I wear it with pride; because to me it’s a piece of my story—a simple reminder of who I am, and what I can overcome.
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
The cry for help was not heard. Emily came up with so many excuses to spend some quality time with her mother and they were not acknowledged. “Can’t you go some other time, Mommy, like tomorrow?”(Pg.225) Emily’s mother was young herself and had a rough raising did not know the signs of asking for help.
James Balog states in the beginning of his extraordinary film that the most powerful interaction known is between mankind and nature. We are surrounded by endangered wildlife and we are the cause of the endangerment. Chasing Ice is such an eye-opening film that demonstrates how powerful climate change is. Setting up multiple cameras in Iceland, Greenland, Alaska, and Montana results in shocking imagery of the disappearance of glaciers. The imagery that is captured is beautifully terrifying that offers the evidence of greenhouse gases destroying our planet.
... at the man, the unbidden memory of my parents’ lifeless body in the open casket washes over my mind. My head begins to throb. I fight back tears, screaming in agony.
My feet glide across the smooth, slick ice, the skates on my feet slowly wearing into the freshly cleaned rink. Suddenly my foot catches in a grove and I'm falling onto the cold, unforgiving ground while sliding ever so slightly. After banging my cold hand on the ground in frustration, I push myself up onto my bruised knees and then to my feet. As I skate to the nearest bench, angry tears well in my eyes. Quickly wiping them away, I sit down and wipe the ice buildup off the blades. Untying the long blue laces, I pull up the purple fuzzy socks that adorn my feet.
A blast of adrenaline charges throughout my body as I experience the initial drop. My body's weight shifts mechanically, cutting the snow in a practiced rhythm. The trail curves abruptly and I advance toward a shaded region of the mountain. Suddenly, my legs chatter violently, scraping against the concealed ice patches that pepper the trail. After overcompensating from a nearly disastrous slip, balance fails and my knees buckle helplessly. In a storm of powder snow and ski equipment, body parts collide with nature. My left hand plows forcefully into ice, cracking painfully at the wrist. For an eternity of 30 seconds, my body somersaults downward, moguls of ice toy with my head and further agonize my broken wrist. Ultimately veering into underbrush and pine trees, my cheeks burn, my broken wrist surging with pain. Standing up confused, I attempt climbing the mountain but lose another 20 feet to the force of gravity.
“Are you serious?” Did she really just ask me to pray? No way in hell will I stay and pray with her, clearly prayer did nothing to keep Brisa alive!” I shoved her arms away and stomped away; suddenly walking begun to be difficult and I almost stumbled down the stairs. In a flash, my mom hugged me and carried me to the couch where the sobbing began. The impact the news had made me feel as if I had not eaten in months, maybe even years, all in all, I felt empty. My eyes stung and could not stop
As I begin to plant my ski boots into the ground, I immediately realize that that was a bad idea. Before I can even blink, I flip through the air like a gymnast, except not as graceful, and feel my chin smack the snow. Luckily my face had stopped me from sliding. As I pick myself up and start brushing snow off of every part of my body, I realize that I am at the bottom the hill, nowhere near the finish, with no skis, and no ambition.
Mom told me not to let you go and I did anyway. I always wonder how different your life would have been. I hope you can forgive me for that!” However, this is what he had to say about having any regrets from this experience. But, again, he was at no fault. Both of my parents emotions were running high at the time, who’s would not be? Any parent would be freaking out to an extreme level if their baby boy were in the hospital with his life under question. “My thoughts went from panic, is he hurt? How bad is it?” this was my father’s thinking while he sat in the waiting room. This describes his emotional state more than anything – worried, guilty, and frantic out of his mind. This was entirely acceptable, however – I feel like there would not be any other way to
We both stood quiet for a few minutes. My mom had no way to answer my question. I got up and walked to my room because I was tired of thinking about it. My mom walked into my room asking if I was okay. “Yea, I’m fine.” I said, smiling.
It was freezing outside. We should have stayed on the trail. Instead of taking the safe path, we left the trail and went on an adventure to see the rest of the snow covered forest. Despite our parents warnings, we went out almost a mile into the thickest part of the forest and ignored all the obvious danger signs such as creeks and streams being completely frozen as well as trees that had clearly fallen recently as a result of being overburdened under the immense weight of snow being piled up on their branches. Quite some time after nobody recognized the surrounding area, we decided it would probably be in our best interest to retrace our steps and attempt to follow our fresh path in the snow, however, none of us knew of the impending danger;
Thinking this was partly my fault, I felt terrible. If I wasn’t sick, maybe she would’ve gone to the doctors earlier, and they would’ve caught it sooner. Trying to be strong, I bit my tongue. However, once I heard the number four, a little crystal bead escaped from my eye. The feeling of warmth slid down my face, dripping off of my chin. Fighting back more tears, I went over to give her a hug. Her strong embrace broke me. One tear turned into a straight rainfall. In addition, I could no longer breathe. “It’s just a bump in the road. Everything will be all right,” my mom said
I quickly dried off with the pink mermaid towel. Our friends came outside and sat down on the poolside chairs without making eye contact or making a single sound. I went inside to find my father sitting down on the big comfy lazy boy chair in our living room just off the kitchen. He asked me to sit on his lap, and he put his arms around my side. We sat there in silence for a few seconds. My stomach churned, something was really wrong. In a quiet calm voice my dad explained to me where my mother was and why she wasn’t with us. I couldn’t hold it together; tears came pouring down my face, I wanted to scream. I wanted to see my mother so bad; her gentle hugs were so comforting. All I could think about was how I would no longer be able to ride my blue sparkly bike with My Little Pony stickers on it down the street to my grandparents house to hear my grandpa's’ stories, eat all the orange popsicles in the freezer, and call him up to see if he had the ingredient my mom forgot to get for baking. My dad asked me not to tell my sister yet, that she was too young to understand what was going on right
On April 3, 2013, I could not remember what my home felt like anymore because my memory went completely black. The sounds of beeping machines surround me as a knife-like pain shoots through my eye. I have no idea where I am; the last thing I remember is walking to dinner with my sister. As I slowly open my eyes, only my left eye can see. I reach up; my right eye is swollen shut. My brain attempts to recollect the past, but it is unable. The blurriness slowly clears, and I see my family standing above me, their faces in utter shock. My sister Liza holds back tears and asks if I remember falling over the stair railing. She goes on to explain that I smashed the right side of my face against the edge of a stair, and after an hour-long ride on the
However, this time they had picked the wrong conversation to do it on. This year I was dealt one of the hardest blows I had ever felt, besides the one that I received when my mother died. It was so painful that I found myself mentally doubled over with my arms wrapped around myself as if I was trying to keep myself together. My father had a disc in his lower back that was swollen twice the size it should be. I had learned this the night before when I was making fun of how he was walking hunched over. However, the severity didn’t quite hit me then because when he explained it to me, his tone of voice made it seem as if it was nothing that a couple of trips to physical therapy and a chiropractor couldn’t fix. Turns out my assumption was wrong. It was so far off track, that it would take a bus, plane, and train to arrive at the correct