And there it was; the opened casket. The casket laid in the front of the room – the center of attention amongst the ten rows of church like benches whose maximum capacity was 250 people. An enlarged photograph of my cousin, right beside the casket, stood out amongst the other smaller photographs that were placed all over the room. The room was silent and cold; but the silence was soon interrupted by my aunt Diana’s soft yet echoing voice as she said “my son, my son” and ran over to my cousin's side. Soon enough everyone else in my family surrounded her and begun crying as well. I didn't know what to do. Seeing my cousin's corpse made me feel heartbroken, once again; but I didn't want to show any vulnerability. I wanted to put on a brave face for my family because I wanted them to worry about themselves and not the younger generation. When I was first found out about the traumatizing and horrible news, I had broken out in tears and everyone was trying to console me. They were worried about me, my younger cousins, and my brothers. I felt like they couldn't properly grieve since they were too busy worrying about everyone else. Well now I had to wear that mask, the mask of bravery, and I kept on pinching myself to retain the tears from coming out. I had hoped that this physical pain would keep me from feeling the emotional pain; yet it was barely working. I didn't want to cry. Today was not only my cousin's day; but also his mother's and his brother Luis's day. I was about to break out in tears again, when I saw Juan bring in cups filled with water for my aunts. That was a wonderful idea. I would keep my mind busy by tending to my family, by supporting them, and so I ran out of the room and went to entrance hall. Right next to the ent...
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...ssing out over the little problems in life, but instead sought of easy ways to fix them. My cousin had been right, we only have one short life to live and we had to enjoy it. I always take a camera when I know that I am going to go to a place to have fun. And I always make funny posses to commemorate the life that my cousin lived.
As I said my final "goodbyes," I started to sob again; but I understood that this was natural. I am a human being, not a robot, so it is natural for me to express my feelings. I reached down and gave my cousin a kiss on the forehead then I felt around the engraved wordings on the coffin. They read "Jesus Alberto Crosby, November 1, 1976 – May 25, 2009" "It's not a goodbye, I will be seeing you once more Beto," I said under my breath. Beto was my cousin’s nickname. With that I left and I am still applying his wise advice to my daily life.
We all deal with death in our lives, and that is why Michael Lassell’s “How to Watch Your Brother Die” identifies with so many readers. It confronts head on the struggles of dealing with death. Lassell writes the piece like a field guide, an instruction set for dealing with death, but the piece is much more complex than its surface appearance. It touches on ideas of acceptance, regret, and misunderstanding to name a few. While many of us can identify with this story, I feel like the story I brought into the text has had a much deeper and profound impact. I brought the story of my grandmother’s death to the text and it completely changed how I analyzed this text and ultimately came to relate with it. I drew connections I would have never have drawn from simply reading this story once.
The author talking about a funeral had a very long lasting affect on me. The author purpose was to make me understand that I should always do the right thing. Using his example of her old teacher, and how she did not want to go, but in the end he realized doing the right thing makes others happy. There were also instances of her saying that she did not want to make her condolences or go to the funeral in general, and I feel anybody can relate to that instance. If I ever have a love one pass away, I hope that all my friends and everybody who knew they would come to the funeral because it truly does mean the world to the family that is going through this.
Death is something that is sometimes misunderstood and hard to accept. In James Baldwin’s short story, “Sonny’s Blues”, the reader learns of four deaths that had occurred during the narrator’s life time. One of the deaths that the narrator describes was of his daughter, Gracie. Gracie had died of polio. Originally, she was thought to only have a cold. Four days later, Gracie fell and there was no sound. When Isabel decided to go see, she found her daughter curled up on the floor and not breathing. By the time Gracie found her breath, she let out a horrifying scream. “And when she did scream, it was the worst sound, Isabel says, that she'd ever heard in all her life, and she still hears it sometimes in her dreams. Isabel will sometimes wake me up with a low, moaning, strangling sound and I have to be quick to awaken her and hold her to me and where Isabel is weeping against me seems a mortal wound” (92). From the quote above, the reader can picture the suffering Isabel is under from the lost of her daughter. One can also tell that she has not been able to deal with it completely by her reoccurring nightmares. Losing a child is very hard to deal with. It brings a lot of pain, sadness, but most of all much suffering. It is s...
The funeral was supposed to be a family affair. She had not wanted to invite so many people, most of them strangers to her, to be there at the moment she said goodbye. Yet, she was not the only person who had a right to his last moments above the earth, it seemed. Everyone, from the family who knew nothing of the anguish he had suffered in his last years, to the colleagues who saw him every day but hadn’t actually seen him, to the long-lost friends and passing acquaintances who were surprised to find that he was married, let alone dead, wanted to have a last chance to gaze upon him in his open coffin and say goodbye.
“I still recall… going into the large, darkened parlor to see my brother and finding the casket, mirrors and pictures all draped in white, and my father seated by his side, pale and immovable. As he took no notice of me, after standing a long while, I climbed upon his knee, when he mechanically put his arm about me and with my head resting against his beating heart we both sat in silence, he thinking of the wreck of all his hopes in the loss of a dear son, and I wondered what could be said or done to fill the void in his breast. At length, he heaved a deep sign and said: “Oh, my daughter, I wish you were a
Uttering the final goodbye is never an easy thing to do. In many cases we never have the chance to say goodbye. Deep in our subconscious, we know our final moments in this world will eventually come. The question that leaves everyone in fear is when our final moments in this world will be, and whether we are able to say goodbye to the ones we love. Literary writers compose great pieces of writing that revolve around death. Sometimes it is not the death of a person, but rather, having something being ripped out of our hands; having no control. Take English poet Anne Bradstreet’s poem, “Upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666,” Bradstreet allows us to feel what she feels; when losing her home, she is rattled with anger towards God, but
Through an intimate maternal bond, Michaels mother experiences the consequences of Michaels decisions, weakening her to a debilitating state of grief. “Once he belonged to me”; “He was ours,” the repetition of these inclusive statements indicates her fulfilment from protecting her son and inability to find value in life without him. Through the cyclical narrative structure, it is evident that the loss and grief felt by the mother is continual and indeterminable. Dawson reveals death can bring out weakness and anger in self and with others. The use of words with negative connotations towards the end of the story, “Lonely,” “cold,” “dead,” enforce the mother’s grief and regressing nature. Thus, people who find contentment through others, cannot find fulfilment without the presence of that individual.
I’m glad we have Maurice, my mother’s younger brother here today. Ella, her older sister, unfortunately couldn’t make it, but I know the news of my mothers death hit her hard. And I know that she prayed with all her will, for my mother.
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
passed away” holds a significantly sombre and melancholy tone. This is juxtaposed to the living
Now that the summary is out there for all who did not get to read the story let’s make some connections to everyday life. In the story is it said by the author that, “All the while I hated myself for having wept before the needle went in, convinced that the nurse and my mother we...
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.
Each of you here had your own relationship with my Dad, each of you has your own set of memories and your own word picture that describes this man. I don’t presume to know the man that you knew. But I hope that, in this eulogy that I offer, you will recognise some part of the man that we all knew, the man that is no longer amongst us, the man who will never be gone until all of us here have passed.
My heart was simply ripped apart. I could not believe it at first, but I knew I had to. After all these wonderful years and enthralling moments, I finally have to face God's greatest challenge. My mind wasn't as messy as before anymore and I couldn't even think of what to think. It seemed as if I had nothing to worry about, nothing to do, nothing to say. I was trapped inside this room waiting for the Grim Reaper to reap my innocent soul.