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An essay about funerals
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It all started in 2008 when I had gone through an experience that unfortunately everyone at one point will have to go through. It was the summer of 2008 and it was late at night when my dad received a phone call saying that our close friend wife had been in the hospital for stage four cancer. At the time I didn’t understand what cancer was and what it could do. Later the next day we go to visit her at the hospital. Since my sisters and I were good friends with their children we spent that day playing at the hospital. A few months later my dad received a phone call that would send chills down everyone’s backs. Once my dad told us the horrific news that she had passed away all the playing stopped and the room went silent. The room was so quiet …show more content…
I stood there thinking about what had happened but I still didn’t understand what happened. My mom wrapped us in our blankets and waited for us to fall asleep while my dad went to the hospital to bring comfort to their family. In the muslim practice it is thought that it is better to bury the body as soon as possible. So my dad spent the rest of his night planning the funeral. The next morning when my dad arrives he tells us to get ready and that we are going to the mosque. In the mosque is where we would pray for forgiveness on the deceased person. At that moment seeing all the people crying and praying I started to understand what has happened. Looking back on that day I haven’t witnessed anything more saddening than the faces of all the people in the mosque. Everyone was either crying or praying and if you were a kid you were either copying your parents or looking for your friends. For the next hour I would sit there talking with one of my friends. We were both trying to figure out what to do. By this time an hour and a half has passed and all the men got up in a simultaneous motion. I stared into the crowd as if it was a big fluffy piece of cotton candy but I was searching for my dad. I had no clue where he
When I was finally behind him, I watched his big feet somewhat stomp as he walked closer to the door with my siblings behind me. He opened the door without a knock and said hello along with his name. I turned the corner to see a small old man with glasses and white hair sitting on the couch. His son was next to him. Big man, much like my father.
As we pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home, I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. Just a week ago, my ex-husband Rick, had brought our children back from a fun-filled vacation. They had spent two weeks exploring Tennessee, visiting amusement parks, and flying over the Smokey Mountains. He had brought them back to Ohio, dropped them off at my new house, and had asked to see the dog that my daughter adopted at the humane society. I had taken him to see the dog, she seemed uncomfortable with his presence and growled. Still he had lingered, talking about their trip and his plans for the next time he saw them. The conversation and pleasantries were hard for me to force. Years of living with someone who was manipulative and had abused
... funeral home and prepared to walk her out to her grave. The morticians loaded my aunt into the hearse. Everyone was walking behind the hearse until we reached her plot. My uncles and Dad pulled her out of the vehicle onto the bands for the funeral directors to lower her into the ground. Then the priest for what felt like an hour of words and gave the signal to lower her into the ground. While they were doing that, the priest passed out roses. We all threw the roses onto the burial vault and said our goodbyes and went home. When we got home we reflected on the times we had.
I was next to the bridger over the bay near us. It was pretty far from my house. Immediately after I stopped, I fell to ground in tears. It all started to sink in again. I was shaking and my sight was blurred from the tears in my eyes.
Sitting in the lobby of the hotel, I felt the cold breeze escape the sliding glass doors and touch my bare shoulders, triggering goose bumps to appear all over my body. As my family and I waited for the cab to arrive, I caught my eyes drifting down to my dress. I had worn it a few months before to a basketball banquet. I liked the way the small crystals all clustered towards the bottom of the dress sparkled against the black fabric. They reminded me of stars twinkling in the night sky. The sparkles on the dress might be disapproved attire at a funeral, but to me, it was symbolic of my grandfather. As I watch the cab pull in, my family and I head out the sliding into the frigid London air. I open the cab door and take a seat by the window.
This is crazy. Why am I afraid? I’m acting as if this is my first funeral. Funerals have become a given, especially with a life like mine, the deaths of my father, my uncle and not my biological mother, you would think I could be somewhat used to them by now. Now I know what you’re thinking, death is all a part of life. But the amount of death that I’ve experienced in my life would make anyone cower away from the thought. This funeral is nothing compared to those unhappy events.
As you were not able to live with grief and did not have the childhood of your dream, you will offer this opportunity to your children. You will hope that your children admire you and think that they have the most beautiful, kind and caring mother.
I know she heard us but she never opened her eyes again until that last moment, she opened her eyes one last night and my grandma told my great grandma “it’s okay mama go ahead daddy’s waiting for you I love you” that was when she took her last breath. It was July 29th around 3am when my dad came in my room and told me “Haley I’m going to the hospital grandma is gone.” At first I just said okay I was in a dead sleep so I didn’t comprehend it in that exact moment. A few minutes later I got out of bed I heard my brother pull in the drive way he left work early to come home and he and I sat and looked though pictures together shedding tears and laughing and asking each other if we remembered this. We all went up my great grandma’s house where all the family gathered about an hour and a half later. Even then I was fine it wasn’t until my grandma walked in the door which is my great grandmas daughter as soon as she did she just sat in my great grandmas’ chair and stated sobbing and that’s when it hit me that she was really gone this wasn’t just some dream it was real. I could taste salt from my tears running down my face into my mouth. After that it was all a complete
My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.
If I were to find myself to be dying suddenly, and request a living funeral, I would probably want it to affirm myself before dying. Dying is likely a lonely experience because only you know the feeling of inevitable dread; the sinking feeling of knowing your life is slipping away. It is just nice to know that people love you, and will miss you when you’re gone; regardless of whether someone is dying or not, you should let them know that you love them, but it’s not as common to do, in our society. At the “funeral”, I wouldn’t want it to be depressive or glum, I would want it to be fun like a party, I would have extravagant foods and circus performers, (who cares if I can’t afford them, I’ll be dead!) and hypothetically midgets to perform rituals
At 13 years old I was diagnosed with cancer for a year. With all the overnight hospital stays was sometimes fun but got dull at times, because I wanted to see friends. Missing out on all the fun things that was going on at school, especially the field trips. Although being in the hospital did stop me from smiling I had a lot of support and comfort. All the family that visit and most importantly my favorite nurse Brittney.
My father's eyes opened, and he called out for my sister Kelly and I to come to him. In a very serious and sad voice, he told us that he was very sick, and he was going to the Fort Wayne hospital. My mother told Kelly and I to help her pack some things for him, because he was going to be leaving soon. We helped her pack, keeping quiet because we did not want to interrupt the silence that had taken over the room.
Even though I clearly remember all the sanity me and my little family went through. I never wanted them to know their mother just up and disappear on them. I took a deep breath and was about ready to tell them the whole truth. They already knew too much. But right before I could speak, I became suddenly unspoken-less. They gave me this look, not a look of sadness, more like a look of pride and honor. They both huddle close to me and gave me a hug. The words that came from their mouths next. I 'll never forget
The moment we stepped foot into the hospital, I could hear my aunt telling my mother that “he is in a better place now”. At that moment, something had already told me that my dad was deceased; it was like I could feel it or something. I felt the chills that all of a sudden came on my arms. As my mother and grandmother were both holding my hand, they took me into this small room. The walls were white, and it had a table with four tissue boxes sitting on the top. My other grandmother was there, and so were my two aunts, my uncles, and
It was a Sunday morning. We got the call from the convalescent home. I went up with my mother and brother. As I walked in, I remember seeing him in the bed. He just looked so peaceful; it was the best thing that could have happened. Even so, death is terrible no matter what the condition of the person. No one is prepared to accept death no matter what, where or how it happens.