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Personal medical narrative essay
Personal illness narrative ESSAY
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I awoke the next morning to a note on the nightstand, it was from Preston, “busy day today as you know today is the funeral. Just know I love you dearly and I will see you at the church.” My heart sank when I read that message, I am becoming a great disappointment to not only my family, but the congregation. I stew in my sham for a few more moments when I snap back into reality remembering I am Mrs. Malone, respected wife and mother; I have to carry out my day. I get out of the bed and towards the master bathroom to clean myself up and prepare for the day. I finish getting myself together and I leave my room to go downstairs. I get to the bottom of the stairs and I see Zach and Mia dressed in their best clothes waiting on me. Even though today …show more content…
I cannot hear what they are saying to each other, but their demeanor suggest they are sharing condolences. I play with the cross on my necklace as I silently watch them. They end their display and Rebecca trots over towards the casket. Seeing there are no problems, I rush to go find Mia and Zach so we can get ready for the service to start. I leave the entryway and quickly trot down the aisle towards the back of the church. I discover Mia and Zach setting up snacks on the kitchen table. My fear starts to fade away watching my children, polite, respectful, helpful, they are just a few things I got right in my life. “People are arriving, so let’s get out there to greet them as they enter,” I declare. Zach and Mia put the finishing touches on the snack tray and trail behind me back to the front of the church. As we circle around to the doors we happen upon Preston as he is involved in conversation with the man. I halt dead in my tracks as fret over took me again. Frozen in fear, staring at them talk, expecting the worst, but praying for the best. Mia turns and sees I have stopped, she glides towards me as she says, “Mom, what’s wrong?” I close my eyes, slightly shaking my head, breaking the spell as I reply, “oh nothing, dear, let’s go.” My eyes become fixed on them as I walk with Mia towards the church
I got a telegram from the home: “Mother deceased”. Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours.” That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday.’
Entering the chapel, I observed all the familiar and unknown faces around me. After about fifteen minutes of being introduced to people who claimed they remember me, a man who I couldn’t identify began to talk. Throughout the rest of the ceremony, different people read their encomiums in which they had written about my grandfather. It was odd. For the duration of the funeral, I felt disconnected. I felt devastated, but in an emotionless, indescribable way. This had been the first funeral I had ever attended. Surrounding me were faces full of devastation and tears racing down from the dozens of luminous eyes. I still felt detached. Why do people cry at funerals? Maybe the person they lost wouldn’t want them to be sad, maybe they would want them to honor this moment and praise the life that they’d lived. After an approximately thirty minute long funeral, we were asked to rise as the pallbearers entered. Before I knew it, I found myself in a line of sorrow, waiting to see my grandfather. The body laying before me was not my grandfather, but rather the body of my grandfather outlined against the velvety interior of the basket. After everyone had their turn, the pallbearers placed a bouquet of orchids on top of the casket. Orchids represent strength and my grandfather was indeed a strong
Within two days of my father's mothers death, there was a receiving of friends gathering at the Church on Tennessee's campus. At first it started off with just family members and close friends talking and comforting each other. My grandmothers passing was very tough on me and other members in my family but it hit my father the hardest. After several moments of catching up with family members the first of many people started piling into the Church. Many of my family's friends and loved ones of my grandmother began to make there way over to me and my father. Each person that greeted me would say the same thing. "I'm so sorry this happened to you Stokes. Your grandmother was an amazing woman and she will be deeply missed. She is in a better place now." I thanked all of these kind words while fighting back tears. One of the toughest parts of the evening was when the people inside the Church would offer their condolences to my father. "If there is anything you need, just let me know" was one of the more redundant and frequent sayings that were spoken to my father. Even though all of the condolences were worded differently, I noticed the same sound of hesitance and uncertainty the voices. All of the people who wanted to offer help to my father in this time of need, were unsure how to do so. I understand what the people must have even
I sat down in the large, unfamiliar church pew. Right up in the front row. Absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of my brand new black dress. I could still taste the salt on my lips; my tears freely flowing as the service progressed. I’d never been to a funeral before. The casket laying open in front of me. Surrounded by grieving friends and family. The sweet sound of “Amazing Grace” playing over and over. I thought I would be ready. Everyone says funerals bring closure, bring the joy of remembering a beautiful life, bring the surviving family closer and makes them stronger. “It gets better,” they say. But not when the person you lose is still alive, not when you have to see how their life moved on without you, not when you don't get the closure of the funeral. It doesn't get better.
I would like to thank my family for their love, support, and understanding through this journey. Lily, Addicyn, and Savanah, you are my greatest inspirations in life, as you have truly shown me anything is possible. I would like to thank my loving husband, Jon for his support, compassion, and believing in me. Thank you for pushing me past my own expectations, as I now understand limitations only exist as long as one believes there are limits. Push hard, one foot in front of other, and dare to dream.
When my uncle Kevin passed away on December the tenth, two thousand and fourteen, it was early in the morning, and I was supposed to be asleep. I had been sleeping soundly for most of the night, but I suddenly woke up and felt, sort of off. At the time I thought it strange, but I did not think anything of it until that day when I got home from school. Just like how I never realized the significance of the fact that my dad “went to work early” out of the blue that morning. But when my dad stopped the car at the top of our driveway right after I had commented that my cousins were over, I had a sick feeling of dread. He had the same look he always had when someone died; the same look he had when he told me my neighbor had been killed, and when my great grandmother had passed. This was the first time that a death had hit this close to home; it was the first one that came as such a shock.
“I see you all have arrived,” they turned around and see Aunt Sarah standing in an extravagant ball gown. “I didn't want to make and entrance.”
I got a telegram from the home: “Mother deceased. Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours.” That doesn't mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday” (1).
You're such an inspiration - spending your time... and energy on such a... good cause. The ladies are enjoying themselves. Have you handed out the other blankets?
I had only been to two funerals in my life—my mother's mother, and my father's father—but I knew the words of the Guiding Song well enough to sing as the priests opened their mouths and began the
We got to the place where her wake was held. It was dark out. I looked out the window, people were dressed in all black, lights were hung all over the entrance, and I could hear church bells ringing. I turned over to mom. “Tonight is going to be hard”, she said to me.
ten - The day I've been not really looking forward to is coming really quick. It all happened in a blink of my eyes. It's currently 1:15 A.M. Eight hours plus before Caleb's wedding day. Don't get me wrong, yes, I love seeing my brother being happy because-
The Funeral Mass started like any other. As I prepared the Altar with the necessary sacramental vessels, I took a second to peer out from the sacristy to see the congregation. Unlike any funeral I had served before then, the congregation was overflowing with family, teachers, and friends. Then it was time for the
It is the day of my wedding. Seems like it has taken forever for it to get here, more like two weeks. I wake up next to my beautiful 1 ½ year old daughter Emily. Today is the day and I am ready. I go over my mental checklist checking things off. Dress and shoes, in my closet…check. Veil…check. Makeup bag and hair stuff ready to go…check. I take a deep breath and get dressed so I can go to get my hair and makeup done. Waking up my daughter is a breeze, she’s so well behaved. After getting her dressed I run down the 20 or so steep stairs, praying I don’t trip, to my living room and grab all of our stuff. It is a short walk across the street to my parents’ house where my entourage will be to help get me ready for my big day.
Many little girls dream of their big fairytale wedding with a prince charming of their own. We all have watched and grown up with the classic Disney movies that not only entertain children, but are influenced by what we see. I am guilty of wanting the fairytale wedding, big puffy gown, sparkles, handsome husband and our happily ever after. But what you don’t see is how much time and energy is put into creating your own fairytale wedding. After many months of planning and preparation for this day I was excited, nervous and anxious to carry on with the day that symbolized a new beginning with the love of my life. I was about to make a lifelong commitment to my one true love. Nothing I’ve done has taken so much preparation