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Funeral - Personal Narrative I gaze around. I see one family, brought together, to mourn for one of our own. Countless numbers of dark figures stand on parade, speaking in unison to pay our respects to one whom we adore. The sadness corrupts my inner soul and my heart bleeds a river inside. Nothing could change the wretchedness I feel. We leave, what seems to me, not a holy church, but more of a devil's palace. But the worst is yet to come. Still shedding tears I climb into the hearse, my eyes fixed upon the noble man in the back, in the vain hope that there would be life in him once again. It is useless. I stare outside in the deepest of depression, worrying about the road that lies ahead of us. The road spirals through the Welsh mountains and through the vast fields of my homeland. My mind strays aimlessly into the expanse, and a single minute feels like a lifetime upon this cursed Earth. The winding road takes us through light and dark as we progress through a city of leaves and reappear into the sunshine. One after the other, we are a pack of vehicles, in pursuit of the hearse in front. We ascend the mountain side in single file to achieve our goal, and I stare down at the town, which is just now a memory of suffering and sorrow. We reach the peak, but appallingly, there is still more to come. The car comes to a halt; my heart beats. Sweat drips from every pore. Nothing happens. No one moves. Could this be the end of this tormenting monstrosity? I peek out of the window. Suddenly we begin to accelerate, and I fear it has not ended. Confused and desperate, I lunge my head out of the opposite window. Another myste... ... middle of paper ... ... weary head and glance over a wall, which overlooks the town. The peaceful town of Dolgellau. I turn my head once again to the graveyard. This to me is a paradise. A place where people came to be at peace and re-united with their families. An imaginative sepulchral nirvana. I dash over to the solemn funereal procession that gathers round his resting place. I burst my way to the front line, in time to see his body placed delicately into the sacred earth, and the scent of freshly dug soil surrounds us. My burning eyes gaze impassively upon the tombstone, and I read a name that will echo through the ages. Robert Gwylym Lewis-Jones I have sailed from my last harbour, with God's mighty right hand supporting me. In God I trust, and in his golden dawn I will drop anchor. 'Islow Dref'- The place above the town.
loss, it's to do with futility. For all he did, for all the rules he
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
Death’s whisper traveled in my ear, wrapping around my mind, “I can take you away from this madness. Beyond this hell, that is life.” “Will it be more peaceful there?” I asked. “As serene as heaven above.” Possessive Depression responded. My heavy heart fluttered at the thought of serenity. No more painful days, or lonely, restless nights. No more of this living death. Anxiety murmured all my insecurities tempting me to make the decision, as every tick-tock from the clock he held, echoed in my brain, putting fear in me of things that will never happen. I thought about the invitation to eternal sleep, “I would finally be able to extract this smiling mask…” Thus, I decided to join the dance of death, done dealing with my dilemmas.
Funeral do not happen till 2 or more weeks after someone has died. It can even be over a month. This is because they need to get money together to pay for all the food that is needed, plus everyone must be notified. When someone dies the immediate family is told in person and not over the phone. They will call them and tell them to come quickly or tell them that the person is sick. When a woman who is married dies, it is often the job of her in-laws to tell her family that their daughter etc. has passed away.
My first experience with death as a child happened when I was eleven years old. My grandfather passed away in his sleep from heart failure. I had spent that night at a girlfriends, when I came home I asked my father where my mother was. He replied simply that my grandfather had passed and she was with my grandmother. It was not discussed any further and I went to my room where I awaited my mothers return. My mother proceeded to explain what happened. I was more concerned with her well being than the death itself. At the time I knew what death was. I had a fascination with death as a child, it was something that greatly interested me. My grandfather had a very traditional funeral. I was very timid and curious at the viewing. I felt uncomfortable
As we pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home, I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. Just a week ago, my ex-husband Rick, had brought our children back from a fun-filled vacation. They had spent two weeks exploring Tennessee, visiting amusement parks, and flying over the Smokey Mountains. He had brought them back to Ohio, dropped them off at my new house, and had asked to see the dog that my daughter adopted at the humane society. I had taken him to see the dog, she seemed uncomfortable with his presence and growled. Still he had lingered, talking about their trip and his plans for the next time he saw them. The conversation and pleasantries were hard for me to force. Years of living with someone who was manipulative and had abused
Death a familiar friend, who seemed to always show up when I least expect it. Somehow when he appeared and blindsided me, I should have known. Things never can stay that good for long. My grandmother, taken by death to once again be reunited with her soul mate after years of morning. With this came the harsh effects of the diagnosis, the hospital visits at all hours, medication, death, and home.
October 10, 2013 was the day my grandmother passed away. While this may not seem to be significant, this was a monumental moment in my life. Prior to her death, I had been grappling with depression for many years, and with her death, it only seemed to intensify. My grandmother had resided with us; she had become almost a second mother to me. Her death was the first death I had ever experienced firsthand. The experience had been traumatic for me to say the least, but it had also taught me a lot about myself, and life. In the months following her death, it seemed that all my relatives began passing away. My grandfather passed away, two of my uncles passed away, and then my aunt.
A mortuary is a place where human dead bodies are retained for preservation and safety till the burial. Cremation is completed from a mortuary or a funeral house. These mortuaries and funeral houses are present in hospitals, private clinics, any volunteer charity homes or such service provider facilities (Afele, 2014). In these facilities, human corpses are preserved by funeral workers who manage cold-storage via deep-freeze facilities so that bodies can be retained for some time before funeral takes place. Funeral worker performs a sacred task and are prepared to accept its consequences in return. Funeral homes workers are in the uncommon and vague position of being honored for the work that they do even as feeling rejected by the society to whom they provide such services. (Garden, 2001)
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
As you were not able to live with grief and did not have the childhood of your dream, you will offer this opportunity to your children. You will hope that your children admire you and think that they have the most beautiful, kind and caring mother.
While I was growing up I knew death was something that was going to eventually happen and sadly it happened sooner than I expected. I believed in death and got the idea of the feeling. Through the ages of six to fifteen I have only been to three funerals but I was not a family member, which means it did not affect me in anyway. I would feel sorry for the family but that was the closest to me feeling sad.
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.
My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.
Something that I really struggled with was the passing of my Grandmother. She was a strong woman and an inspiration to everybody in my family. I think that I struggled with it because she was a great human being, I kind of looked up to her a bit, and of course she was part of my family. I think that along with her passing, I struggled with the fact that she died when I thought that she did nothing wrong in her entire life and did not deserve to die. Mainly the fact that she was a really good person and she just died like that.