The Life Changing Death I am in a well-lit room with soft carpet under my feet. The room has a unique sweet smell that I do not recognize. My body is trembling as I listen to the soft music. My worst fear in this instant is that I will pass out and leave my mom to face this on her own. The reason I am in this room right now is not that I have always wanted to experience this. The only reason I am here is that it is not fair to leave my mom to deal with this on her own. I have been here for her all the way through. I am not going to ditch her now. The mortician is a pleasant man and seems to know what we are going through emotionally. I break the silence by asking him, “What’s the hardest part of your job.” I expected his answer to have something to do with the embalming process. He frowns and shifts his weight to his other foot as he says, “Well the hardest part is when we work with really young people. It’s a lot easier preparing the body of someone who has lived their life, compared to someone who hasn’t even …show more content…
As I put her slippers on her feet, it feels like I am dressing a cold doll. My mother begins styling my grandmothers hair and asks me to tweeze my grandmothers’ eyebrows when I am done with the task I am currently working on. The process of preparing my grandmother’s body for the viewing seems to be relaxing for my mother. I then realize this will be the last time she gets to do my grandmother’s hair. As I begin on this new task, I look down at my grandmother’s face knowing this is just the shell, and even though this is technically my grandmother it does not look like she is just sleeping. Her body lacks something, almost a light like thing. It just shows that the body is not the person but the spirit is the real person. Her spirit is not here in this body but beyond the veil; right where she wanted to be. I then have a flashback to when grandma was still
There are three stages of thought for the Grandmother. During the first stage, which is in the beginning, she is completely focused on herself in relation to how others think of her. The second stage occurs wh...
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
A moment in time that I hold close to myself is the funeral of my grandmother. It occurred a couple of weeks ago on the Friday of the blood drive. The funeral itself was well done and the homily offered by the priest enlightened us with hope and truth. But when the anti-climatic end of the funeral came my family members and relatives were somberly shedding tears. A sense of disapproval began creeping into my mind. I was completely shocked that I did not feel any sense of sadness or remorse. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to mourn, but there was no source of grief for me to mourn. My grandma had lived a great life and left her imprint on the world. After further contemplation, I realized why I felt the way I felt. My grandmother still
who were depressed were 4 to 5 times more likely to have made serious inquiries about
My grandmother has a certain look in her eyes when something is troubling her: she stares off in a random direction with a wistful, slightly bemused expression on her face, as if she sees something the rest of us can’t see, knows something that we don’t know. It is in these moments, and these moments alone, that she seems distant from us, like a quiet observer watching from afar, her body present but her mind and heart in a place only she can visit. She never says it, but I know, and deep inside, I think they do as well. She wants to be a part of our world. She wants us to be a part of hers. But we don’t belong. Not anymore. Not my brothers—I don’t think they ever did. Maybe I did—once, a long time ago, but I can’t remember anymore. I love my grandmother. She knows that. I know she does, even if I’m never able to convey it adequately to her in words.
Throughout this essay I will discuss and define what is a ‘good death’ and who it is good for, using case studies as evidence. Defining the difference on difference and diversity and why it is important to outline the relation to difference and diversity for a ‘good death’.
Life and death are dualities. These two immaterial forces culminate into a beautiful and tenuous composition creating an awareness of abject mortality that indirectly contributes to the breadth and depth of human existence. This existence or being is marked by an incessant love of life, influenced by the pervasive knowledge of eventual death. The characters in Mrs. Dalloway endeavor to grasp the meaning of both life and death through the act of resistance and/or acceptance of the impermanence of human existence as it relates to them personally and to those around them. Nietzsche’s interpretation of the themes of life
One thing that we often hear is that “death is just a part of life.” So often in our day and age do we hear people utter these words. However, death is far more significant and impactful than some would allege. True death is not merely a time when we cease to exist; it is an entombment, a mindset in which we are dead to this world. Throughout our lives, it is true that we can all be dead in one way or another, but it does not have to be that way. When we have our eyes opened to what death actually is, it is far easier to grasp what the true meaning of life is, and to embrace it. Often, we will come across individuals who are enveloped in death and others who are immersed in true life. The shadow of death and entombment lies upon some, encompassing
I slowly opened the front door -- the same old creak echoed its way throughout the old house, announcing my arrival just seconds before I called out, "Grandma!" She appeared around the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how good to see you." It was her eighty-fifth birthday today, an amazing feat to me, just part of everyday life to her. The familiar mix of Estee Lauder and old lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "admire how much I've grown." I stopped growing eight years ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing this fact out. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even when my father and his brothers grew up here more than forty years ago -- musty smoke and apple pie blended with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my grandfather's contribution, whose habit took him away from us nearly five years ago; the latter, of course, comes from the delectable delights from my grandmother's kitchen. Everything was just as it should be.
The subject of death and dying can cause many controversies for health care providers. Not only can it cause legal issues for them, but it also brings about many ethical issues as well. Nearly every health care professional has experienced a situation dealing with death or dying. This tends to be a tough topic for many people, so health care professionals should take caution when handling these matters. Healthcare professionals not only deal with patient issues but also those of the family. Some of the controversies of death and dying many include; stages of death and dying, quality of life issues, use of medications and advanced directives.
As I remember, Mother is sitting on my side of the bed, her face illuminated by the candle’s dim glow. She is singing the lullaby we both know so well, the smooth words rolling off her tongue, melding like honey upon our eager ears. Her fingers sweep gently over us. As the breathing in the room calms, Mother blows out the flame, leaving the room in a cool darkness. I am usually asleep before she eases herself out and exits the room quietly.
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.
The sickness spread quickly, faster than even my mother thought it would. One day, I was perfectly fine and only moments later, a few days at most, I was bedridden, hooked up to more machines and IV’s than I could possibly count. Most teenagers don't ever have to go through something like this, the worst they deal with is broken bones and bad bouts of the flu, I guess that makes me unique. Sometimes I just sit in my bed and think about killing myself. I'm never going to get better, so why hang around for the few miserable months I have left.
I find myself in a small metal room with no door and nothing else except the four walls surrounding me and the floor. Every sound I make ricochets off the shiny surfaces and makes the shallow layer of dark colored liquid on the floor ripple. I bend down and dip a finger into it only to be disgusted and frightened when I realize it's blood. I wipe it off on my jeans and gently put my hand on the wall to my right which, to my surprise, is extremely cold, way colder than metal should be. It makes me shiver.
Death is something that causes fear in many peoples lives. People will typically try to avoid the conversation of death at all cost. The word itself tends to freak people out. The thought of death is far beyond any living person’s grasp. When people that are living think about the concept of death, their minds go to many different places. Death is a thing that causes pain in peoples lives, but can also be a blessing.