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

The phone rang early the morning of July 21, 2013. It was a inspect from my brother-in-law telling me the news of my mothers decease. 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 daytime ever since I had heard the diagnosis. Once I awoke, I packed and started the journey home from situate University, where I had been staying with friends while attending a business seminar. I had spent three years at State University and had made this drive home often. This time, however, everything seemed variant. All the trees seemed brighter, more colorful, and more in force(p) of behavior. Maybe when one thing has died, it adds life to something else. Could this be the natural put of things? In just those few moments, I snarl my life change. I on the spur of the moment realized that I could no longer be a child. Not more than twenty minutes into my drive, I foun d myself suddenly overcome by reality, and grief became my driving companion. There was a outcry on the radio that stirred 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 front of me in a thousand different ways. This was a pivotal point in my life, and what I did now would scratch the rest of my life. Could I even have a life later this? The questions I asked my God and myself that day are too many to count. This was concentrated emotional trauma, and at the age of twenty-one, I was not ready to travelling bag this life on my own. The drive took me through the home of my youth. As I arrived in McCormick, I saw all the familiar sights. My mind started to course back to when everything w... ... I hate this tradition. Why would anybody want to throw a party in your honor on the one day they contend you cannot make it? I attended just to see what would happ en. 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 society need to come up with a better set of rules to follow when it comes to funerals. Years have passed since I watched the sepulture of my mother. The only physical contact I have now is the casual trip to the grave site, and the only reason I go is to do ground maintenance. Pulling weeds and placing flowers on the grave is a family duty. so far after you die, it is necessary that you portray a good image, and I olfactory perception a responsibility to my mother and her memory. It is still important to me that I run low the type of life that would make her proud.