Personal Narrative: A Woman's Death

From what I remember, the world was rainy and dull that morning. Staring at the grey walls of my bedroom I tried, albeit lackadaisically, to clamber out my bed. After several futile “attempts”, I rolled onto my side and buried my head into my pillow like a frightened ostrich sticking its head in sand. Indolently, my fingers grazed my cheek and ran past the dried tear stains from the night before. Slowly, I sat up, shoulders hunched over, clutching my comforter to my chest, and again cried. As the new tears began to run down my face, I wondered, why? Why had this wonderful woman, at thirty-seven years of age, who deserved a full life and everything it had to offer die? Why had this wonderful woman’s three children, all under the age of eleven, lost their mother? Why was this wonderful woman, in whom I could confide, torn away because of that vile cancer? Why did my Aunt Boo Boo die? Walking into the funeral home, I felt the urge to run wanting to bolt back to my room--my safe haven-- where I could pretend that none of this happened.
She was the only other person who could provide me comfort. When I found her however, she was engaged in conversation with my Aunt Dawn and Geoffrey. Spinning in a circle, I spotted my grandmother. She looked so distraught and helpless. I don’t know how she felt. No amount of pain I was going through could come close to that of losing her daughter. I had quickly walked over to her before anyone else could have given their condolences to her. I gently wrapped my arms around her frail body and tried to stay strong as she started sobbing on my shoulder. I stood there, silently, and tried to comfort my Maw Maw as best I could. Eventually she pulled away and looked up at me. “You look just like Bethany.” My heart stopped cold in my chest and I could no longer control the tears. I too had started to cry uncontrollably. My chest heaving as I held on to the pew next to me for