“Run” My feet were running, chasing after each other. I look behind me to find Carter, Caitlyn and Jayce trying to catch up. The man was carrying a stick in one hand, a cell phone in the other and waving it around. “My house is ruined! I'm calling the cops!” Mr Brinley waved his walking stick in the air one more time, mumbled something and hunched back into his house. We four could see Mr Brinley dialing 911 on our way out. We ran with smiles and laugher. We jolted behind a corner and gasped out to catch our breathe. “We are going to get in so much trouble.” Caitlyn said as she took another breath and laid down on the patch of grass next to her. She let out her last laugh and sighed. “Hey, look at my finger.” Carter’s finger was covered in blue spray paint. Jayce laughed. “Mine too” Caitlyn and Jayce all had paint on their fingers too. I looked down at my fingers to find no remains of paint. “I don't..” …show more content…
I see all my family members dressed in black. I wipe the tears with my sleeve. I look around to find people I haven't seen for years and years living miles and miles away from me. I look around. There's granny. Standing there. Looking sharp as can be. A handful of tissues ready to mourn someone else's death. Granny is alive. Who died? There's a big picture, leaning against a casket. A picture of me. Underneath reading, Brooke Elizabeth Peterson. My name. My picture. My casket. My death. I could feel a hand grabbing around my heart. Beads of water started falling down my cheek, one after another. I fall to the ground. The cellar, the fire. It killed me. Now lying in the casket I so selfishly hoped someone else was in. The world quickly turned into a blur, as well as the sounds, the tastes the smells, everything was gone. The last few emotions pounded against me as I slowly lost the feeling of feeling. The world around me went from colors to black. This was it. The four was three. I was one slowly becoming zero. So now
...a bead of blood off her finger with my kerchief. “Is it better?” I ask.
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.
At Ten P.m on September 23, 2006, my mother Kelli Elizabeth Dicks was hit by a car on Route 146 southbound trying to cross the high speed lane. She was being picked up by a friend. Instead of taking the exit and coming to the other side of the highway, her ride suggested she run across the street. The impact of the car caused her to be thrown 87 feet away from the original impact zone and land in a grassy patch of land, her shoes stayed where she was hit. She was immediately rushed to Rhode Island Hospital where she was treated for serious injuries. When she arrived at the hospital she was rushed into the operating room for an emergency surgery. The amount of injuries she sustained were unbelievable. She broke 18 different bones, lacerated her liver and her spleen, ruptured her bladder, and she collapsed both lungs. When she went in for her emergency operation, and had her
I did not know it at the time, but in November of 2005, I was knocking on death’s door. I was living in Naperville, IL with my girlfriend and her family. It was a few days before Thanksgiving, and the family was preparing for the holiday celebration. I was starting to feel a bit under the weather, but it was flu season.
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
It smelled sterile, of chemicals, of death. I had requested beforehand, that the children be allowed to see their father privately. No need for gawking and unnecessary displays of emotion directed at little humans, who could not truly grasp what was happening. I tried not to look at anyone as we passed by the small groups of people scattered here and there…..staring, I knew they were staring. I heard my ex-mother-n-law call out to my 9 year old daughter. I pulled her closer and we walked into the viewing room. My children began to cry. Again, I do not recall what was said. I remember that they put their notes into the casket. I remember looking at my ex-husband and thinking that this was a dream, that he didn’t look how I expected him to look. I don’t know what I thought he would look like. We stood there, for what seemed an eternity. It was probably no more than ten minutes. We exited, and immediately the children were whisked away by relatives who wanted to comfort with good intentions. It seemed that the children were drawing on the emotions they displayed. The funeral began an hour after we had arrived. My husband and I sat in the back of the room, while my children sat in the front with their grown siblings, grandmother, uncle and cousins. I surveyed the small room. Very few flower arrangements were present. I began to notice faces. No one I knew except for his family. The few people that I
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
In the process of reading chapter two, I immediately thought back two years ago. I had the worst Stressor. I've had in my only 16 years of living. My great grandmother, who I lived with along with my mother, my whole life. She passed from stomach cancer. September 14 2013, I remember getting out of the shower with a smile on my face, and my grandmother casually walking in and said "Granny died at 2:34 this morning. I'm going to Chicago and I'll come back the day before the funeral. " My family works in the funeral industry but we do not own a funeral home and we have never buried such a close family member of ours. With my Step father and my mother losing their minds, and my little sister not knowing how to process this and my aunt just down right disappearing, I had to handle this. I was 14 at the time and I was calling on older friends to take me to the bank, finishing arrangements, picking clothes, doing the memorial video and the catering because none of my family offered to cook. I was panicking and literally running from place to place because I was trying to get things done. I was eating more and sleeping less, and from
“Hah, just kidding. You should’ve seen the looks on your faces, absolutely priceless. It’s right here. Gimme a hand, will you?”
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 interviewed a hospice nurse, her name is Jessica Marquez and she is a Registered Nurse, She works with Prime care Hospice located at 4225 w Glendale, phoenix 85019.az. Ms. Marquez received her associate degree at Gate Way Community College in 2010. Three years down the road, she decided that she wanted to continue her education to obtain her bachelor’s degree in nursing. Ms. Marquez applied for admission at the Arizona State University and got accepted in the program. Twelve months later, she received her bachelor’s degree in nursing.
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.
Two years and four months ago I died. A terrible condition struck me, and I was unable to do anything about it. In a matter of less than a year, it crushed down all of my hopes and dreams. This condition was the death of my mother. Even today, when I talk about it, I burst into tears because I feel as though it was yesterday. I desperately tried to forget, and that meant living in denial about what had happened. I never wanted to speak about it whenever anyone would ask me how I felt. To lose my Mom meant losing my life. I felt I died with her. Many times I wished I had given up, but I knew it would break the promise we made years before she passed away. Therefore, I came back from the dead determined and more spirited than before.
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.
“Ow! What the hell Mikasa?!” Eren griped and rubbed the sore spot on his forehead. He’d definitely have a discernible nail mark after that.