The Burial of My Mother Essay -- Personal Narrative, essay about my fa

The call rang early the morning of July 21, 2013. It was a call from my brother-in-law telling me the news program of my generates cobblers last. The news came as no surprise. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer in May of 2013, and her death had been expected. I had been trying to prepare myself for this sidereal day ever since I had comprehend the diagnosis. Once I awoke, I packed and started the journey headquarters from put forward University, where I had been staying with friends while attending a business seminar. I had fagged three years at State University and had made this lawsuit home often. This time, however, every subject seemed different. All the trees seemed brighter, more colorful, and more full of life. Maybe when one thing has died, it adds life to something else. Could this be the natural order of things? In just those a couple of(prenominal) moments, I felt my life change. I suddenly realized that I could no longer be a child. Not more than twenty minutes into my drive, I found myself suddenly overcome by reality, and grief became my driving companion. There was a song on the radio that randy all my emotions into nervous gumbo. I felt everything from anger to happiness, from betrayal to fortunate. As I continued, I started to see my life unfold in movement of me in a thousand different ways. This was a pivotal back breaker in my life, and what I did now would affect the rest of my life. Could I steady have a life after this? The questions I asked my God and myself that day are too many to count. This was pure emotional trauma, and at the mount of twenty-one, I was not ready to handle this life on my own. The drive took me through the home of my youth. As I arrived in McCormick, I maxim all the familiar sights. My mind started to drift back to when everything w... ... I abominate this tradition. Why would anybody want to throw a party in your watch on the one day they know you cannot win it? I at tended just to see what would happen. We ate a lot, and everyone told us how sorry they were. As I looked at them and at us, I realized people really do not handle death well. We as a fellowship need to come up with a better set of rules to go over when it comes to funerals. Years have passed since I watched the burial of my mother. The scarcely physical reach out I have now is the occasional trip to the grave site, and the only reason I go is to do ground maintenance. Pulling widows weeds and placing flowers on the grave is a family duty. Even after you die, it is necessary that you describe a good image, and I feel a responsibility to my mother and her memory. It is still important to me that I live the type of life that would make her proud.