The room was lighted and awfully dark. It was big, as all hospital rooms are, and was supposed to be shared. You could feel the grief in the air, a suffocating feeling. There was no doubt someone’s life was coming to an end. That life was my aunt’s, a life that had lived 30 years in suffering. Her story is one of those rare stories you hear about where the person’s disease is never found. Doctors diagnosed her with hundreds of diseases but none that lasted more than a few weeks. They were guessing at her illness hoping to guess one right. When she finally got so ill that we were told there was no hope, all we did then was thanked the lord for finally deciding to take her. It brought me pain to have to translate and explain my aunt’s medical standing to my mother. I was 14 at the time, half of what I was translating I did not understand myself. Throughout the time I came to realize the truth and see things how they really were. I wanted to help my aunt as much as I could, but unfortunately all that was left was to be with and comfort her in her last few weeks. The nurses were amazed with me and my reaction to the situation. Now all I want to do is be able to help other families like mine.
My aunt was strong and independent she did not let how others viewed her, not even her illness, bring her down or stop her from enjoying life to the fullest. I viewed her as my emotional role model, a type of inspiration. My mother being a light English speaker gave me the task of helping