I was a young man when my family's journey began in the search for freedom. We resided in a decent little neighborhood just in the outskirts of southern Russia. All the families around knew each other very well therefore I could never understand why my family always seemed so miserable. I mean I heard stories and watched the news about bad accidents from muggers to murderers but I never seen anything like that around where we lived. Until one night my father did not come home, my mother told me he was just working late, but I knew something else was wrong, it was way after any working hours. I became so frustrated of waiting for my father I guess I ended up falling asleep because next thing I remember was being woken up at 3:30 am by my mother hysterically crying. I knew it was my father so all I could do was sit there and hug her. The officer told me he had been found in an alley after being brutally beaten, and he was already dead upon their arrival. Witnesses claim they saw him get jumped outside of the synagogue which he had been seen leaving earlier that afternoon. My father always carried his valuables on him, all his money, personal information cards, and bank account numbers. None of this was on him when he had been found, which only meant one thing, they could be coming for us next. My mother spent days searching for friends or family we could stay with for awhile until we could get ourselves together. But with our luck we were helpless.…
I felt obligated to be a sophisticated person; making my own decisions and helping my mother with my younger brother. My father was unreliable and offered no guidance, making me feel lost and hopeless. It hurt me to see him battle his disease and not able to help him. There were nights I could not sleep thinking of my father and how things should change. I would drift off into another place and time wishing my life was normal, but reality would soon set back in. Numerous questions would run through my head; how can I help, if things were different; would life be better, and how can I turn this situation into a positive…
As my body was breaking down knowing my dad could die, nothing felt the same. My mom drove me to the accident in Lynn, MA to my Aunt’s house. I saw my dad laying there next to a Pine tree. The look in his eyes looked devastated they were watery and down, with tears coming down his cheek. I was heartbroken, scared, shaking it was the worst moment in my life.…
When I was 16 I thought I was on top of the world and never imagined that I could lose a parent at such a young age. I was not prepared for the obstacles I would face in the days, weeks, and years that followed. Many nights were spent wondering if what I was doing in my life would make my dad proud, or how everything would be different if he was still here.…
I could hear the footsteps running up behind me and I crooked my head that way; it was my father, he was covered in blood holding a knife in one hand and a needle in the other. Tears wouldn't stop pouring out of my bloodshot eyes, I tried screaming, but nothing wasn't coming out, I tried getting on my feet as I stumbled my way down the stairs and out the door into the frosty air, which by then felt refreshing. I stopped outside the front door trying to process everything that was happening at that time, my breath was leaving my mouth in clouds into the stale air, I then felt a sharp sting in my neck, and dropped to the hard grass. Looking directly over me into my eyes was my…
At just about the hour when my father died, soon after dawn one February morning when ice coated the windows like cataracts, I banged my thumb with a hammer. Naturally I swore at the hammers the reckless thing, and in the moment of swearing I thought of what my father would say: "If you'd try hitting the nail it would go in a whole lot faster. Don't you know your thumb's not as hard as that hammer?" We both were doing carpentry that day, but far apart. He was building cupboards at my brother's place in Oklahoma; I was at home in Indiana, putting up a wall in the basement to make a bedroom for my daughter. By the time my mother called with news of his death--the long distance wires whittling her voice until it seemed too thin to bear the weight of what she had to say-my thumb was swollen. A week or so later a white scar in the shape of a crescent moon began to show above the cuticle and month by month it rose across the pink sky of my thumbnail. It took the better part of a year for the scar to disappear, and every time I noticed it I thought of my father.…
Death was something new to me. I had never had to deal with someone close to me passing. I had experienced my friends losing a grandparent or a distant relative, but it had not affected me terribly much. I always considered myself to be lucky I had not suffered through the pain of losing someone brought. When this finally occurred, the first challenge was presented to me: accepting the fact I didn’t have a father anymore.…
I was working on a school project when I got a call from my dad saying he was coming right away to come pick me up, I remember the sheathing anger I felt arguing that no he wasn’t going to pick me up that I really needed to finish this school project. I still shake my head in dismay knowing the fact I in fact didn’t need to finish the project I just wanted to hang out with my friends. I can’t pretend that I didn’t sulk my way to my dad’s waiting vehicle that I looked at him with a scowl across my face. Nor can I wipe away from my memory the words he said next “Your sister is in the hospital, she’s lost her baby and she’s asking for you.” This complete wash of emotion that came over me the shame the concern I was mortified with myself. How could I have been so mad about my importance when my sister had just faced a devastating event? Looking up and saying “Take me to her.”…
It was Monday, May 30th, 2011. My family was driving home from a hotel we were staying at in Virginia, after going to Kings Dominion for my birthday day the day before. On the way home, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel for breakfast. During our meal, we got a call from my aunt telling us that my uncle, my mother’s brother, was in the hospital. Only a few days before he had moved back to Guatemala without saying goodbye to me. Once we were back on the road, my mother continued to get phone calls updating us about what was happening down there, as each call came through we all became more and more anxious wait for the answer. Then it came it just wasn't the answer we were hoping for, my mother began pushing on the walls of the car as if they were…
I remember that cold November like it was yesterday. It was so cold that I felt the breeze going through my skin. I remember waking up to my mom and sisters crying. I can tell that my father was trying his hardest not to cry. I’ve always felt safe at home, it’s a place to feel peace and joy with family but this was different. I just wanted everything to be like the normal days where my mom fusses at me for not waking up earlier for school or forgetting to do the laundry. Everybody was so sad but trying there hardest to be strong in front of me. Everybody surrounded me as I was getting ready, it seemed like they were following my every move. I tried my hardest not to cry or just fall apart because I know that it would only make things worse and break everyone into pieces. I had to remain strong and remember that I’ve been through this before and that God is always by my side. Sitting on the dining table was pointless; the food was just there for show. Nobody seemed to have an appetite. It seemed as if they were the one going through this tragedy but I can’t blame them. If anything happened to them, I would feel the same way. I had left my house a billion times before but that morning was by far one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. I kissed my sisters goodbye and told them to be strong for me and regardless of what happens, that they’ll always be in my heart. I have 3 sisters and not seeing there beautiful faces again would destroy me. Getting into the car was like moving to a new house. It was so quiet driving to the hospital with my parents. It was the longest drive of my life although I didn’t want the drive to end. I had to be strong though and remember that I am no longer 4 years old anymore. I was only 17 and I already been through this life trial before. Everything seemed to be playing in slow motion. I started to remember every childhood memory I had. I remembered the first time I…
It happened on a day like any other, but little did I know while I was sound asleep, that I might never have the chance to see my father ever again. It was around midnight when my father was on his way home on his motorcycle. He was only two blocks away from home when all of a sudden a car illegally ran a stop sign, took a sharp left turn, and caused the monstrous vehicle to collide with my father head on. His body flung over the hood, and he flew onto the side of the road. With no helmet on,…
The hospital became normal, chemotherapy became normal, the withering image of a man who refused to say goodbye became normal. My father did not want to die, he cried, not out of pain, but for the farewell he knew was inevitable. Thus, the morning of October 4th, 2005, the phone rang with an almost eerie cry. I, so meticulously trying to tie my shoes, kept undoing the knots until they met my high standards. Knot after knot, I battled my way until I achieved near perfection. That was the last thing I remember before my grandmother’s wails filled the house, sending chills down my spine. Provided, being the insightful child I was, knew it could only mean one thing. That fateful morning, I cried my hysterical cry.…
September 24, 2000 was significant day in my life and I would never forgotten that day until I will pass away like my dad. In the morning of that day, I was very scared because I had an awful dream about my father. In the dream, my father was shaking hands with every member in my family and talking to everyone about his or her life. Then came to me and asked me to take care my family and whispered in my ear that he would leave soon. When I woke up and tried to go to my job, I talked and reminded myself that it was just dream and maybe I had negative thinking about my life and work.…
The next two days went by slow, not hearing a word from anyone about what had exactly happened. Finally, the next day I open up the Steamboat paper only to see the headline “73 Year-old Man Dies on Ski Mountain”. My heart dropped, although I hadn’t known this man personally I felt as if in someway I did. Apparently this man had a heart attack while skiing and then tumbled down the hill where he eventually passed away. Ski patrol had tried their best to save his life but at the end of the day was unsuccessful.…
for my own opinions about the meaning of home. I’ve been to a total of…