My Pa Pa always told me, “Give me my flowers while I’m here not when I’m dead.” A trip to my grandparent’s house in Olustee, Florida was always a trip I looked forward to. Their house always felt like another home to be, but that was until my grandfather passed away from having Alzheimer’s December 9th, 2012. When he passed, everything felt different. After December 9th, nothing really felt the same to me anymore. Due to my grandfather’s passing, my thoughts on life changed.
Even though my grandparents did not live in a big city, it was a fun small town. A town that was so small, it only had one traffic light. Everybody knew everybody. It was a real country town, but I loved it. Well, I use to love it. That’s how I used to feel about it until it happened.
Just stepping out the car, placing my feet on the dirt road, and walking to their gated but welcoming, blue house, thrilled me. Opening the door, the den always stood quiet as if no life was invited. Walking up the ramp to the living room, there my Pa Pa would sit on the soft sofa and watch TV. Then, I would sit on the sofa with him. Our joy and our laughter would always fill the room. That was until the day death decided to invite itself into the house.
It was a dark cold night in December. Opening the door to their house, the den sat quiet as usual, but something else was different. Walking to the living room, I did not hear a voice that always greeted me with joy. There was no room for joy, or laughter anymore. When I sat down, my Pa Pa’s bed sat across from me. I could see the bones through his skin, the bagginess of his white t-shirt, and the sadness that rest in his eyes. On his lips, a smile no longer lived. “Hi Pa Pa”, I say as I walked over to k...
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.... Those moments were all I had left of him. Life indeed was extremely precious. I cannot do anything to stop death. God wanted my Pa; therefore He took my Pa. I made all these plans, but life is too short. My Pa’s life was cut shorter than I wanted it to be. I sat there and I wondered, “Was he thinking about me? Would we meet again one day? Where will I go when my life is done? Who will I impact?” These were all the questions I asked myself as I was laying there.
Although I was laying there with questions, there was another thing I realized though. Sometimes things happen that impacts forever. That impact leaves an imprint on the soul; therefore it can never be forgotten. My Pa’s death impacted me in such a way that it changed my view of life. Therefore, I want my flowers while I am still living because I cannot do anything with them when I am dead.
My mother was a complex, multi-faceted person. Many of you here today knew my mother personally, and many of you knew my mother indirectly through one of her family members. You may have known her as a coworker, a friend, or a support person. Of course, all of my mother’s family here today each knew a part of her, a “facet” of her--as a mother, a sister, an aunt, a grandmother, a cousin.
Death is a controversial and sensitive subject. When discussing death, several questions come to mind about what happens in our afterlife, such as: where do you go and what do you see? Emily Dickinson is a poet who explores her curiosity of death and the afterlife through her creative writing ability. She displays different views on death by writing two contrasting poems: one of a softer side and another of a more ridged and scary side. When looking at dissimilar observations of death it can be seen how private and special it is; it is also understood that death is inevitable so coping with it can be taken in different ways. Emily Dickinson’s poems “Because I Could Not Stop for Death” and “I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died” show both parallel and opposing views on death.
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.
Though most have a desire to leave earth and enter eternal life peacefully, without any sorrow, the departure of a loved one can be despondent. Previously in 2011, my grandfather passed away due to heart failure. It was an arduous battle, not only for my grandfather, but also for the close knit family surrounding him. His battle with heart failure enabled me to create unforgettable memories with him, even in his final days. Laughing together, playing together and learning significant values about life together made me grow to become a more mature and wise person. Therefore, my personal experience is entwined with empathy because the death of my grandfather has made me realize how dismal it is to lose someone important. It also interplays with self-interest because I have grown as an individual to deal with the ache that is attached to losing a family member. It has helped me to realize how beautiful the gift of life is. Stephen Dunn, the poet behind Empathy and my story are connected because they both involve the feeling of empathy for others and the self-interest of an individual. They help us to grow and learn about ourselves and the emotions of
Summer was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the mornings were dew covered. The sun had just started to set behind our home; my father would be home soon. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my mother cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be. My mother always felt she could be doing a million other things besides cooking dinner. We sat there talking until I heard a familiar soft rumble in front of our house. The rumble was accompanied by my father fidgeting at the front door. His old noisy Bronco always made his presence known. He plodded down the hallway into the kitchen to greet my mother with a peck on the cheek. After one more quick stir she plopped a hot pad on the table followed by a pan of sliced meatloaf in sauce. The smell of the meat, potatoes, and veggies filled the kitchen instantly and the family gathered around the table. The meal was a typical one in our household, my mother who had a million other things to do that day, including having her own personal time did not feel like cooking a twelve course meal. However, my father who always came home expecting steak did not see the meal as appetizing as the rest of us.
passed away” holds a significantly sombre and melancholy tone. This is juxtaposed to the living
It had been a cold, snowy day, just a few days after Thanksgiving. My grandmother became immensely ill and unable to care for herself. We knew she had health problems but her sudden turn for the worst was so unexpected and therefore we weren’t prepared for the decisions that had to be made and the guilt we would feel. Where would grandma live? Would she be taken care of? So many concerns floated around. A solution was finally found and one that was believed to be the best or so we thought.
During the last moments of my mother’s life she was surrounded by loved ones, as she slowly slipped away into the morning with grace and peace.
One thing that we often hear is that “death is just a part of life.” So often in our day and age do we hear people utter these words. However, death is far more significant and impactful than some would allege. True death is not merely a time when we cease to exist; it is an entombment, a mindset in which we are dead to this world. Throughout our lives, it is true that we can all be dead in one way or another, but it does not have to be that way. When we have our eyes opened to what death actually is, it is far easier to grasp what the true meaning of life is, and to embrace it. Often, we will come across individuals who are enveloped in death and others who are immersed in true life. The shadow of death and entombment lies upon some, encompassing
I sat back and let the sun bathe me in its bright, reminiscent light. The atmosphere around me was quiet, but just a few feet away people were mourning a great life. It was a life that some say was “lived to the longest and the fullest.” I ,on the other hand, held a solid disagreement. The “longest” couldn’t yet be over, could it? Seventy-five just seemed too short when I had only shared thirteen years with this fabulously, wonderful woman.
As I grow older, I will attempt to create a life that I can look back on and think, “That was a life worth living.” Recently, my boyfriend’s grandfather passed away. He knew that his last day was near, but he kept saying that he was not sad, for he had lived a long full life (Matthew Morel, personal communication, February 2016). Contrarily, my grandmother, who is still living today, is obviously in a state of
The dying process is often seen as a grueling one, full of pain and anguish. But De Hennezel shows us, that when supported and surrounded by love it can be an amazing experience. The effect one person can have is amazing and can be quite invigorating. Some would say one’s passion for life is incomparable to that of someone who is dying. Murphy shows us how, when faced with death, one can choose to continue living with passion as he did through his work. Their value of life as well as death is inconceivable and can teach those of us who are alive and healthy, a thing or two about life.
Death can be very scary for the elder and young. One never really knows how they will react to the event of death. Even though inevitable, death can be shocking for some or troubling for others. A shocking and a troubling reality of death are depicted in two short stories, Used to Live Here Once by Jean Rhys and A Father’s Story by Andre Dubus. How characters in a story react to death are often different from one another.
Death is a natural and inevitable part of life. Everyone will experience death, whether it is of a loved one or oneself. In W.H. Auden’s poem “Funeral Blues” (1003), he describes such a catastrophic event and the drastic effect that it has on his life. It is interesting how people choose to accept this permanent and expected event, death. Similarly, Emily Dickinson has written many poems about death, such as “The last Night that She lived” (843), which describes a family waiting for a woman or girl to die and the dreary and depressed mood that exists within the household. Mourning is considered a perfectly healthy reaction when someone who is deeply loved and cared about passes on, and this is illustrated in “The Memory of Elena” (1070-71) by Carolyn Forche. She writes about the events following a funeral and also flashes back to the actual moment that a wife has watched her husband die. W.H Auden’s “Funeral Blues,” Carolyn Forche’s “The Memory of Elena,” and Emily Dickinson’s “The last Night that She lived” are all poems which share death as their subject matter, but differ in the fact that they discuss death in a unique style with a variety of literary devices to make them more effective.
Two years ago today my great grandmother passed away from old age and suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. Although all of my memories with her are vague, I will never forget the happiness that emanated from her when you were around her. Even in her last days, when she could barely remember her own children, you never saw her without a smile on her face. And that to me is something that I will carry with me for as long as I