It started when I was a little girl, I think I was about five years old. I grew up in a one parent household, with just my mom. I had three other siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mom was the sole provider of the family. Everything started getting hard for her as we grew. I got curious and asked my mom a question I never asked before. "Mom where is my dad and why isn 't he here to help you take care of us." " Mom said, he was killed when you were a baby." So I never spoke of it again until I had turned about fifteen years of age. I still was curious about what had happened to my father. I started having dreams of my father being around, a man whom i had never seen or meet before. He was just an illusion that I had made up inside my …show more content…
He would tell me it was just a dream it 's not real he 's dead. As time passed I started having the dreams about my father more frequently. So by this time I was now twenty-one years of age and still having these dreams every night. I decided to ask my mom what I had been putting off on asking her since I started having dreams about my dad and his other family. It was a Friday afternoon, my mom and my grandmother was sitting in the family room. I 'm a person that cut no corners so I got straight to the question. I said mom I been having dreams about my dad and him being alive with another family. She said to me in front of my grandmother I told you your father had died when you were a baby. My grandmother heard what she said and made a comment, no your father is not dead. My mom the got mad and told my grandmother to mind her business. So my grandmother said nothing else, she gave me a look like that 's not true. We dropped the conversation, I went home and turned on my television and just soon as I turned it on Ancesters.com had appeared on the screen. I took that as a sign from God trying to tell me something. So I turned on my computer and started doing some research on him and his family …show more content…
Just not too thrilled about jumping up on another flight. He told why don 't you invite your older brother to go with you. Of course I called my other siblings up and let shared the news with them. They were excited and emotional as I. My brother and I made the decision that we would fly out that Friday since our other siblings from my mom were too busy to join us. We called my dad to confirm that we were going to be flying down to see him and the rest of the family on Friday. He made arrangements to come pick my brother and myself up from the airport. We hung up the phone but we talked on the phone everyday until we were together in person. Finally it 's Friday we arrived at the airpot to do a luggage checkin, we abored the plane and touch down in Mississippi. We arrived on time, my dad was right there waiting for us. He greeted me and my brother we talked along the way arrived at his house settled in, met the other half . For the first time in mylife I then felt complete, me and my dad are now building a relationship. My other siblings from my dad are also building a relationship, we talk on the phone daily. As for my mom and I we are currently in
I’m living this nightmare, but am also telling myself it’s not true because I feel better. Today my family’s plan is to go see Tanner in the funeral home. I don’t want to go and I beg to stay home. My mom and dad force me to go and see him. When I go up to his coffin and see him, I start to scream and run out of the room. I was terrified because I was afraid he was going to get up and grab me. This seems silly, but I’m in complete shock and seeing him like this makes me scared. He was just with me a couple days ago and here he is now lying in front of me. After I calm down I go and look at him once more. I look at his hair and his face. Thinking to myself, “I’m going to miss you Tanner. I’m going to miss your laugh, your personality, your smile, etc.” I touch his face and it puts me back into the cold reality that this is really happening. My brother really died and he’s really right in front of me in a
In section two (Chicago) of Baracks book, Dreams from My father: A story of Race and Inheritance marks an experience of learning for Obama. Obama throws himself into his new job as a community organizer with determination. His specific role includes the mobilization of local churches of all backgrounds, politics and community representatives, but he is up against a wall of cynicism. Of the numerous lessons he learned, the most drastic would be learning how to move in towards the centers of people’s lives by communicating with them and his change in faith.
I do not have any memories of my own father as a child. I met him when I was about fourteen years old. My mother and grandmother, with the help of my uncles and aunt, raised me. Although I had strong positive male role models in my life, there was always the void of my father that I dealt with on a daily basis. I can remember at a young age, before blowing out the candles on my birthday cake, I would wish that my father would show up to my party. I had elaborate daydreams of him coming back into my life and doing things with me like I saw on television. It never happened. While walking to the train station one evening my uncle casually said to me “there’s your father” as if I saw him on an everyday basis. I didn’t...
I received the call that my brother had overdosed when I was going to a haunted house with a couple of my friends. My mother had not known the severity and told me not to worry. Steven had overdosed in the past so I was not as concerned as I should have been. My friends and I kept on with our festivities and then they dropped me off at my house. There was no one home and I became distressed. When I called my mother she told me to just go to bed and that they would be home soon. I forced myself to sleep. I was in a daze when my mother and father came into my room to tell me that my brother was dead. I don’t know what happened in my brain, but I could not talk and I could not cry. I believe I brushed it off as an awful nightmare. My unconscious demeanor scared my parents so they kept sending people in my room trying to get through to me. I woke up to my best friend hugging me, not saying a word, and then she left. I woke up to my grandma holding my hand with tears flowing down her eyes, not saying a word, and then she left. I woke to my godmother speaking about grief and how I needed to believe that he was gone, and then she left. How was I supposed to believe that my brother was no longer on this earth? I sat there on my bed alone as the idea of my brother dying crept into my mind. My heart began to literally ache. I cried hysterically for hours on hours. It has been a year since he has passed and it doesn’t get any
One night I was kitchen washing the dishes when all of the sudden my mother walked in and asked me if I have talked to my dad. I had replied that I hadn't heard from him in about a year. The next thing I know the words "Your Grandpa passed away yesterday morning, nobody knows were your dad is and they can't keep his body in the morgue past tomorrow." came from her mouth. I just stood there in shock, I couldn’t do anything. She told me to get ready and that we could drive up to my dads house in Ona. When we got there the windows were broken and covered up with some type of sheet and there was a piece of paper on his door that read "Go away. Just leave me alone...please.". We wrote a note and put it on the door and went home. That night I laid in my bed screaming inside my head and crying my eyes out for over a hour. In the morning I had a huge panic attack. I kept hearing ringing and buzzing noises and I could hardly breathe. It took me about thirty minutes to work up the nerve to come out of my bedroom. I ended up going
Now that I am in the counseling program I have become aware of the dysfunctional family that I have grew up in. Growing up I remember my father was never around. There is a memory I will never forget it seems blurry but I remember my parents arguing and becoming angry. I went into a room and when I came out I saw my father’s hand bleeding. My mother was holding a kitchen knife and she had cut his hand. Since my father was hardly around we never had family trips or family time together. He would spend his weekends drinking or going out with his friends. I have another memory that stands out. I remember I was in the back seat of the car and my mom was dropping of my dad somewhere. They were arguing the whole way over there, once we got to the destination my dad got off and walked out. I can imagine this affected my mother as a woman because her needs were not being
My As the years have passed, I do believe my father’s death had a profound impact on my emotional and social development, especially during my adolescent stage. It was during the adolescent stage of my life where my personality traits of shyness, introversion, and self-esteem began to manifest. I did not have a secure attachment to my father. My relationship with my mother felt more like I was attempting to protect her from my father. During my adolescent years we were not
When I was younger I would walk to school every day and I would walk pass this brick house that stood on the corner by its self with three green steps leading to a white door. For some reason that house always looked familiar to me and I always had a bad feeling about this house but I have never known why, until one day my dad picked me up from school and we walked passed that same house and I asked my dad why does that house look so familiar? He told me that I was born and raised in that house until I was ten years old. He told me that two guys broke into that house and tried to rob our house while everyone was sleep. My dad was just getting off of work when he caught one of the robbers and the other jumped out of the window. My dad told me
I was fourteen years old when my life suddenly took a turn for the worse and I felt that everything I worked so hard for unexpectedly vanished. I had to become an adult at the tender age of fourteen. My mother divorced my biological father when I was two years old, so I never had a father. A young child growing up without a father is tough. I often was confused and wondered why I had to bring my grandfather to the father/daughter dance. There was an occurrence of immoral behavior that happened in my household. These depraved occurrences were often neglected. The first incident was at the beach, then my little sisters’ birthday party, and all the other times were overlooked.
One day we were watching a sporting event at my sister’s house, and my mother began to choke on ice cream, her face was turning blue, and no one knew what to do except for me, I was CPR certified. I told my father what to do because my mom was overweight, and I was unable to wrap my hands around her. I can remember being overwhelmed with feelings of sadness for the way I have treated my mother, how I could have lost her over ice cream, but I was the one with the information on how to help my mother. A few weeks after that incident I sat with my
When I was younger, living in the south side of Chicago my mom and dad looked after me, my sisters, and my brother. My dad would occasionally drink too much whenever he had money. Sometimes he would get violent reminiscing on his past or the current past-present. One day my mom packed some of our clothes in our book bags. Then she rushed us out into the night. We wondered the streets as children and eventually made our way in to a shelter. We stayed several days and nights. We would visit my mom’s side of the family from time to time just to catch our breaths. Later during our wondering, travels my mom bumps in to an old friend. She fills him in on our situation and he lets us stay with him for a while. The two of them become very acquainted with each other. There is a problem. The building that her friend lives in does not allow children, or so we were told. To make matters worse he sees me and my siblings as a hindrance. We leave the apartment to look for a new place to rest or heads but this time the friend comes along.
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.
It was Friday night, I took a shower, and one of my aunts came into the bathroom and told me that my dad was sick but he was going to be ok. She told me that so I did not worry. I finished taking a bath, and I immediately went to my daddy’s house to see what was going on. My dad was throwing-up blood, and he could not breath very well. One of my aunts cried and prayed at the same time. I felt worried because she only does that when something bad is going to happen. More people were trying to help my dad until the doctor came. Everybody cried, and I was confused because I thought it was just a stomachache. I asked one of my older brothers if my dad was going to be ok, but he did not answer my question and push me away. My body shock to see him dying, and I took his hand and told him not to give up. The only thing that I heard from him was, “Daughters go to auntie...
It was around 2:00pm and it was time to open presents. I started with opening friend’s presents then I opened families. I was finally done opening all my presents. I looked around at all the people, who were looking at me and my dad was nowhere to be. That was the only present that I was looking forward too. The party ended and my dad didn’t show up, my little four years old hopes were in the ground, it was like I could feel my heart ripping appart. I looked at my mom and she mouthed I’m sorry, my faced turned rosy red and my eyes filled with tears. From that moment on my life was never the same. It was a dark cloudy day and I was going to see my dad. We were playing the game Sorry and he was winning. I was the yellow player and he was the green player, he was laughing and smiling the whole time. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my Friday afternoon any other way. When the game was over he asked me to clean up the game while he went out to smoke a cig. When he entered the room and the game wasn’t picked up, he went crazy. His eyes seemed to turn a dark almost black color. It was like he was a completely different person when he came back
I remember it as it were yesterday, the morning of October 31 1986, I heard my dad’s voice early in the morning; “Mike, get up! Your grandpa died!”