My mom never told me she was grieving, one day I had a talk with her and she told me she cries every day. I had my mom to go talk to her doctor. My brother children still have a difficult time because they miss my brother. Losing my brother due to death at an early age is a big heartbreak for the whole family. I miss my brother.
Funerals are quiet, but deaths—not always” (Scene 1, page 1546). Blanche lost Belle Reve because of all the funeral expenses. Belle Reve had been in her family for generations, and it slipped through her fingers while she watched helplessly. Blanche’s anguish caused her loneliness. The loneliness fueled her abundance of sexual encounters.
Most women never think that they would ever be put in a situation where their significant other would abuse them. The words come out, “It’ll never happen to me!” Yet, when it does happen, to whom do we turn? I realized I had many people to turn to, but I chose not to go to them. My silence hurt more than being physically wounded. I denied it all until the day my best friend witnessed it.
The last time I saw her, she was in a cushioned box, looking quite pale, with no sign of life in her, and being so young I couldn’t grasp the concept that she was gone until some time. Days after I lugged myself around everywhere I went, emotionless, and feeling as if I would never know what happiness felt like again. It took time for my heart to heal, but I still had outbreaks of crying every now and then. My family only tried to help me, but what I needed was my best friend. But I lost her, I lost my best friend.
I go to the hospital and I see my dad’s body and for the first time in a long time I broke down and cried. It takes a lot for me to cry. My stomach not only dropped but, I felt a piece of me leave my soul. I have always wanted a good relationship with him and I was working on it and everything else. We never know why things happen, they just do.
Within the next two months I lost three other friends t... ... middle of paper ... ... we discussed in class the tradition among New England Puritans of looking in the face of the dead and reading their emotions to determine whether or not they were going to heaven. I've thought about this a lot since I've found God and I hope that it isn't true. Everyone I've known has died a horrible death. They were all cut down in the prime of their lives--face down in their own vomit, on the cold, dirty floor of a bathroom, decapitated in a car wreck, in a crowded AIDS ward in a city hospital. None of them had a chance to make their peace with God or with themselves for that matter.
As I recall I remember one time Nadine running to me in the middle of the night crying her eyes out he parents were murdered. I cried all night with her and washed her tears away I was afraid with her and didn’t know what to do I scared. My mom took her in as her child so not only was Nadine my best friend but she was also my sister. My mother met a man name sam he was the best man my mom could have ever found. He took me in as his own child and I loved him dearly.
By the time I got home, my brother had already arrived and was enthusiastically recounting the day’s events to my mom, who had obviously been crying. When he finally stopped carrying on, my mom told me to sit down and then she told me. I will never forget her exact words or even the way she said them. “Megan committed suicide today.” I stared blankly at her, I knew she had to be lying, she had to be wrong, Megan would never do that. We had been too good of friends for too long, I knew her too well.
Seven years later I’m still left with the same remorse that I had the day my mom passed. There is nothing that I’ve have done to try and ease the pain of losing her that has worked. Every day I wake up to a memory of something that my mom used to do that reminds me just how much I miss her. This event has truly made me a believer that the death of an individual does stay with a person and causes them pain for the rest of their life much to the same effect that Edgar Allen Poe showed in his writing of “The
It is also at this moment I feel like running towards the glow of the nearest EXIT sign to escape all the looks of sympathy that make me feel as though my mother died right before I arrived rather than fourteen years ago. I cannot even pretend to know the bond and relationship that these women are celebrating and feel I need to excuse myself for intruding on their special moment. I do appreciate the concern, but the apologies just aren't necessary. I was so young when she passed away that I really don't remember her. This made it hard to relate to my Dad and my brother who were in fact deeply affected by this awful event, and when they talk about her it makes me feel extremely odd.