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More handpicked essays just for you.
The portrayal of death in literature throughout the years
The portrayal of death in literature throughout the years
The portrayal of death in literature throughout the years
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Throughout my life I have had highs and lows; these have shaped my development throughout my 18 years and have made me the person I continue to be today. Although I’ve had highs and lows in my entire life, nearly all of my “lows” started on April 2nd, 2010. On April 2nd, 2010 my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. I didn’t know it at the time, but from that moment on I only had 286 days left with my dad. I only had 286 days until my world was turned upside down.
My dad was always a child at heart. We would play pranks on my mom, and eat ice cream at crazy hours of the night. My dad had a laugh that was contagious, he could fill a room with positivity just with a single smile. When I was a kid he would take the cardboard from the empty paper towel rolls and wrapping paper and
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Eventually my dad 's cancer spread to his brain. It was the night before his first brain surgery, after begging and pleading we convinced my mom to let me spend the night with him at Dana Farber hospital. We got away with ordering ice cream, cookies, and other desserts for dinner that night after mom went home. We stayed up most of the night eating snacks and watching the Harry Potter Marathon on ABC family. When we did fall asleep, it wasn’t for long, nurses would come into my dad 's room every hour to take his temperature and vital signs. We woke up snuggled up together on his hospital bed, to a surprising question. One of the nurses came in the room to “prep” my dad for the day 's events. Little did we expect, the “prep” was shaving off all of my dad 's hair. The nurse could tell that the idea of my father looking any different scared me, so she let me do the honor of shaving most of his hair off. The nurse was right in the fact that it made me more comfortable seeing my dad 's appearance change rather than showing up one day and him not looking like my dad
t was a sunny Friday morning when the news arrived. The perfect weather was an ironic slap to the face as we endured one of the worst days of our lives. A shrill ring from the phone grabbed the attention of all of us. The image of my mother’s face is burned into my memory forever. As she hung up the phone, I already knew the news was not what we had expected. She burst into tears as my father held her, tears falling from his own eyes. That day she was diagnosed with ductal carcinoma in situ, a form of breast cancer. That day was her 50th birthday.
Everything is perfectly fine, everything is great, then one day it all comes crashing down and shattered pieces are left. My life would never be the same but I guess change is for the best and it forced me to become the person I am today. It’s rough to be the oldest child, especially when your mom is diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and you have 3 younger sisters that look to you for comfort when their mom can’t be there. When the cancer is spread throughout your moms body doctors can’t just get rid of it no matter how badly you wish they could. Rounds of chemotherapy only slow it down, yet it’s still there a lurking monster waiting to reappear at any given moment. Nothing can even begin to describe the fear I felt, and still have to deal with today, but something happened where I could be there for others. What would Sheridan think, or what would 8 year old Lane think if they saw me cry? I had to be Strong not only for me, but for my other family members.
Many pivotal moments appear in a human beings life to change the way that individual thinks. All human experiences shape the way a person becomes. The death of my 20 year old second cousin changed my perspective on life. It was not because he was close to me or had a huge impact on my life, but because such a young life ended so suddenly. I got to experience how that impacted and even changed certain people. I came to the realization that all those stories on the news actually happen to real life people. These stories seem so unimaginable, but from that point on, I realized that anything can happen to anyone in the simple blink of an eye. I learned that although every human envisions certain things to occur in their lifetime, many aspects cannot
One fateful day at the end of June in 1998 when I was spending some time at home; my mother came to me with the bad news: my parent's best friend, Tommy, had been diagnosed with brain cancer. He had been sick for some time and we all had anxiously been awaiting a prognosis. But none of us were ready for the bumpy roads that lay ahead: testing, surgery, chemotherapy, nausea, headaches, and fatigue. Even loud music would induce vomiting. He just felt all around lousy.
My mom stopped at the hospital shop and got me a pad of paper, crayons, pencils and a pen. For breakfast they brought me eggs, toast and a tea bag with a hot cup of water. I ate the toast and a tiny portion of the eggs. I placed the tea bag in the cup of hot water and watched the color spread. A hospital chaplain came into my room to check on me, I asked if I could have honey for my tea. He said he’d see what he could do before leaving me alone. While waiting for his return , I began to doodle in the pad of paper. A nurse came in and took my blood pressure and then my breakfast tray. I enjoyed the presence of the hospital staff, it meant I was not
I can still remember that small enclosed, claustrophobic room containing two armed chairs and an old, brown, paisley print couch my dad and I were sitting on when he told me. “The doctors said there was little to no chance that your mother is going to make it through this surgery.” Distressed, I didn’t know what to think; I could hardly comprehend those words. And now I was supposed to just say goodbye? As I exited that small room, my father directed me down the hospital hallway where I saw my mother in the hospital bed. She was unconscious with tubes entering her throat and nose keeping her alive. I embraced her immobile body for what felt like forever and told her “I love you” for what I believed was the last time. I thought of how horrific it was seeing my mother that way, how close we were, how my life was going to be without her, and how my little sisters were clueless about what was going on. After saying my farewells, I was brought downstairs to the hospital’s coffee shop where a million things were running
About two years ago, my mom was diagnosed with a benign tumor about the size of an orange right below the temporal lobe. On a December morning, I arrived at the Holy Cross Hospital parking lot with my dad, aunt, sister. It took around 15 minutes to find a parking space. As I approached the entrance I was marveled by the modern look of the hospital and how they had set up a manger with baby Jesus. The entrance area had a Christmas tree about five times my size and a display of important figures on the opposite side of the reception desk. We walked to the nearest elevator, went up to the third floor, and walked for a while to reach the surgery area. It had countless corridors that it felt like a labyrinth. We arrived at the area where my mom
On February 21, 2016, I, Deputy John Arnold, went to 11747 West 105th Street South to assist another deputy in reference to a fight in progress.
My father, brother, a couple family friends, and I had trekked up to New Hampshire for an exciting weekend. On one trip down from the summit, there was an enormous ski jump and my father decided to race down it and fly off the end. My initial awe and impressed attitude quickly disappeared as he landed with an enormous thud on his side. His face was as white as the snow surrounding him and he could barely hold in the screams of pain. He had dislocated his shoulder and thankfully, the local ski rescue team was able to help him recover. However, for the next few months, he had severe difficulty moving his arm and could not complete any physical activity. I had never seen him more fragile and I was reminded of how many times he had taken care of me when I was hurt or comforted him after a
A family friend, Rose Widmer, came over as my mom and dad were getting ready to leave. She would be staying with us because it looked like they would not be coming home that night. As Kelly and I were eating our supper, my mom came into the kitchen and sat down beside me. She explained to us that our dad was very sick, and that he was having trouble with his brain. She used the term "brain abscess." She said that this is what the doctors speculated was wrong with him, but they needed to go to Fort Wayne to take precautions.
Life often throws obstacles at you so, just like the theme in “Gift From a Son Who Died” don't let terrible news change who you are. Before being diagnosed with leukemia, Eric was an athlete with a competitive edge. Being used to doing all the activities Eric would do, he was only left at home sick with his goals, “... determined to go to college later, study hard, make the soccer team, eventually make all-American” (Lund 889). After having found out he had leukemia, Eric was still convinced that he was going to be able to play soccer and attend school with a life threatening condition. As Eric lived his life with leukemia, he often reminded himself of the valuable events in his life he wasn't
Dad was my rock. He was always there or just a phone call away. He was the funniest man I knew, he could make you smile just by him walking into the room. But with all his fun did come a serious side of him. He was a stern and disciplined man, but he could never resist the opportunity to have a little fun here and there.
In December, my father suffered a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm. His heart stopped twice during the operation, and he was not expected to survive. He had an intensive recovery period, and I wanted nothing more than to make him better immediately. His trauma had made me impatient and afraid to hope. I was having trouble waiting for things to unfold naturally and wanted to know what would happen in the end. Simple, everyday decisions or occurrences took on great importance.
It was June 6, 2011. I remember taking my mother to the County Hospital’s emergency room. She seemed extremely exhausted; her eyes were half-closed and yellow, and she placed her elbow on the armchair, resting her head on her palm. I remember it was crowded and the wait was long, so she wanted to leave. I was the only one there with her, but I did not allow her to convince me to take her home. I told her in Spanish, “Mom, let’s wait so that we can get this over with and know what’s going on with you. You’ll see everything is okay, and we’ll go home later on.” I wish then and now that would have been the case. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with colon cancer that had spread to many parts of her body including her lungs and kidneys. The doctor said to me not considering that I was a minor and my mother’s daughter, “Her disease is very advanced and we don’t think she will live longer than a year.” With this devastating news, I did not know what to do. I thought to myself that perhaps I should cry, or try to forget and take care of her as best I could and make her laugh to ease her pain.
I have a very fulfilling feeling about what I have been able to accomplish in my life so far. I want the absolute best for myself and those close to me. I often go above and beyond to help those around me succeed and be the best version of themselves that they can possibly be.