Someone Worth Missing
It is said that when someone experiences a tremendous trauma , the memories are seared into the mind with astonishing detail . I recall sitting on the couch one day , a couch that is burned into my memory . As I lay on my stomach , the soft puffy cushions gently pressed against my cheek . My fingers danced (4)across its velvety , brown material . There was a dizzying array of brightly colored embroidered , orange flowers . I ran my fingers gently along them , examining all the stitching . I turned to my mom standing in the kitchen and asked with an inquisitive voice , "Mom , where 's my dad ? " . " He died , " she flatly responded . My brow furrowed as I struggled to make sense of her words . Frequently , I would break (5)down and cry . My mother 's family would all tell me , " Don 't
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You shouldn 't be sad , " followed by age-inappropriate stories explaining why I shouldn 't miss him . Whenever I would start to feel the dry lump in my throat and tears welling up , I would quietly tiptoe to my mother 's closet . For a while , my father 's clothes hung there in the back , as if they were patiently awaiting his return . I quietly crawled in the dusty corner under his clothes and pulled the door behind . I sat as silently as possible , warm tears streaming down my cheeks as I extended my hand to gently caress his clothes hovering above me . I pulled a shirt carefully down off the hanger . There I sat , the shirt clutched tightly against my heart . Occasional muffled sobs escaped my pressed lips . As I cast my eyes through the crack of the closet door , lights from the street below beamed in my tear filled eyes . Every blink would send another warm , salty tear rolling down my freckled cheeks . I desperately clutched the shirt as I took a deep breath . The subtle scent of my dad was all that remained . That scent served to validate my feelings that others
In the articles, “Are These Stories True? (Nope.)” by Kristin Lewis and “The Story That Got Away” by Debby Waldman, the appeal of fake news and counterfeit stories is explained. One reason why people may find it interesting is because they are re-telling stories that they have heard before, but with a slight twist to make it seem worse than it was. For example, in the folktale “The Story That Got Away”, it gives an illustration of why it is appealing by saying, “At the schoolyard, Yankel told his friends his latest story. ‘Reb Wulff put salt in the rugelach. Not sugar! Salt! Imagine that!’ Yankel said. ‘Those rugelach tasted like stones!’” (Waldman, 14). The boy, Yankel, was recounting what he heard in his father’s shop, which may have seemed
There are different types of parent and child relationships. There are relationships based on structure, rules, and family hierarchy. While others are based on understanding, communication, trust, and support. Both may be full of love and good intentions but, it is unmistakable to see the impact each distinct relationship plays in the transformation of a person. In Chang’s story, “The Unforgetting”, and Lagerkvist’s story, “Father and I”, two different father and son relationships are portrayed. “The Unforgetting” interprets Ming and Charles Hwangs’ exchange as very apathetic, detached, and a disinterested. In contrast, the relationship illustrated in the “Father and I” is one of trust, guidance, and security. In comparing and contrasting the two stories, there are distinct differences as well as similarities of their portrayal of a father and son relationship in addition to a tie that influences a child’s rebellion or path in life.
I vividly recall being five years old, my mother and I going home after a wedding where she made the decision to drown her pain in alcohol. Being under the influence, mami collapsed in front of my eyes before entering our mint-blue front door. I did not know what was happening so I began to scream desperately for help. She tried to get up off the ground, but she was unable to do so. My initial thought was that she was going to die, and I did not know how to help her. She closed her eyes and for a moment, I thought she was gone. Tears were running down
It did not take long for Robert to realize that he, in fact, did not have any other memories.7. How is that possible? How could he not have any other memories? Robert thought disconcertedly. Did he have a concussion? Was he simply traumatized? Robert kept trying to think of any reasonable explanation, but he knew, in the back of his mind, that his condition was not caused by the crash. He did not know nor understand exactly what was going on, but he was certain it was nothing ordinary. Fear started in him like a forest fire ignited by a single cigarette. It started slow but began to pick up speed. The fear ate at him and his thoughts, threatening to consume him whole. It was going to burn him into nothing, Robert thought when suddenly, it ended. 6. Panicking, that was what Robert should have been doing, this he knew, but something stopped him. He did not feel panic nor anxiety nor fear, Robert felt as he had only a few moments ago, completely numb. Robert felt
Memory is a dynamic part of everyday life. It helps people function and communicate with each other without a second thought. This communication and function can be hindered if the person experiences a traumatic event. There are two main forms of trauma, physical and emotional, each of which can cause major damage to the victims mind. Both types can cause a person to have flashbacks to the traumatic event or even temporary amnesia. In his novel Remainder, Tom McCarthy uses The Narrator to demonstrate a case of physical trauma where The Narrator has an object fall on his head placing him in a coma. The second type of trauma, emotional trauma, is represented by Grandfather in Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel Everything is Illuminated where grandfather experiences a traumatic situation when he was younger but represses the memory of what happened. Foer uses Grandfather to demonstrate the struggle to overcome the trauma when he chooses to repress his memories, as opposed to McCarthy who uses The Narrator to show the initial success at overcoming trauma when there is no choice to repress the memories or not due to a case of amnesia. The Narrator uses a series of re-enactments in order to try to become more flaccid, due to the loss of memory and need to relearn every movement he makes caused by the traumatic event that he experiences.
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
Ida Fink’s work, “The Table”, is an example of how old or disturbing memories may not contain the factual details required for legal documentation. The purpose of her writing is to show us that people remember traumatic events not through images, sounds, and details, but through feelings and emotions. To break that down into two parts, Fink uses vague characters to speak aloud about their experiences to prove their inconsistencies, while using their actions and manners to show their emotions as they dig through their memories in search of answers in order to show that though their spoken stories may differ, they each feel the same pain and fear.
A traumatic event is an experience that completely overwhelms the person’s ability to cope with the emotions involved with that experience. In many cases, it may take weeks or years for someone to cope with their immediate circumstances. The narrator’s severe denial of his actions displays his inability to cope with what he did, which shows the psychological trauma that he went through. Trauma can lead to retrograde amnesia, the inability to recall events prior to the traumatic event. Coupled with false memories, much of the narrator’s story is misperceived and induced by madness.
The ride home had been the most excruciating car ride of my life. Grasping this all new information, coping with grief and guilt had been extremely grueling. As my stepfather brought my sister and I home, nothing was to be said, no words were leaving my mouth.Our different home, we all limped our ways to our beds, and cried ourselves to sleep with nothing but silence remaining. Death had surprised me once
When I walked inside the front door something didn’t seem right. The feeling of sorrow overwhelmed the house. It was so thick I could literally feel it in the air. Everyone was motionless. They were sulking;I was befuddled. The most energetic people in the world, doing absolutely nothing. I repeatedly asked them what was wrong. After an hour or so, my dad pulled me aside. He said that my Aunt Feli had passed away last night. My mind went for a loop, I was so confused. I thought that he was joking, so I replied “You’re lying, don’t mess with me like that.” and punched his shoulder softly while I chuckled. My dad quickly started tearing up and said, “There...
Mollon, Phil. Remembering Trauma : A Psychotherapist's Guide To Memory And Illusion. London: Whurr, 2002. eBook Collection (EBSCOhost). Web. 6 Apr. 2014.
I cried in my room for hours wishing my dad would not go, a whole month without him seemed like the end of the world. I would have no one to play hockey with, no one to tuck me in at night and no one to eat donuts with every Friday. My dad tried to console me but I was too angry to listen to him, I suddenly hated my grandpa for causing my dad to leave me alone. At the airport my dad gave me a long hug and told me to be brave since I was now “the man of the house,” (even though I am a girl), I had to take care of my mom. Promptly this made me suck in my tears and stop acting like a “loser.” It was hard repressing my feelings, seeing my dad leave made my eyes tear severely but I held them back, the man of the house does not cry. Time went by faster when I was at school, I had less time to miss my dad. About two weeks later, my mom got a call from India, my grandpa had died. My mom broke down crying, she slammed the phone across the room into the wall. I felt scared to appr...
It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she picked up, I sat straight up. I muted the television in hopes of hearing what the conversation. At approximately three minutes later, the telephone fell from my mother’s hands with her faced drowned in the waves of water coming from her eyes. She cried “Why?” My Grandmother had just died.
On the day my father died, I remember walking home from school with my cousin on a November fall day, feeling the falling leaves dropping off the trees, hitting my cold bare face. Walking into the house, I could feel the tension and knew that something had happened by the look on my grandmother’s face. As I started to head to the refrigerator, my mother told me to come, and she said that we were going to take a trip to the hospital.
Some memories are best forgotten, but it takes courage to go through them. Often, I wish to forget the day when I almost lost my parents in a tragic car accident. As my world came crumbling down, I prayed and hoped that the nightmare would soon end. I endlessly fought the sense of helplessness, isolation and fear of the uncertainty. I was 19 and clueless. Nevertheless, I sailed through these dreadful days and welcomed my parents home after six long months. In the months that followed my parent’s return, I juggled between taking care of my parents, graduating college and adjusting to my new job. Almost 10 years later, this dark phase still has a phenomenal impact on me. Perhaps, because this specific experience transformed me into a grateful,