Personal Narrative Margaret Haddican-Mcenroe

Rushing. Rushing. Rushing. My mom and I, we were always rushing. Late every time. Everytime. We couldn’t be late. We just couldn’t. It was too much. It was too rude. “Too bad,” she told me, “At least we’re coming.” It’s a shame we live so far away from Warren, the central hub of all things Haddican, but every year we come back for Margaret. Back toward the memories, back toward the chain that strangles us and forces us to think, and to cry.

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As we sped through the winding mountain road, the leaves seemed to light up with every breath I took, like a widespread heartbeat. They seemed to speak to me, letting me know that her heart was still beating. October 10th, 2016. The tenth memorial for Margaret Haddican-Mcenroe, the community heartbeat. I could still imagine her smile, or the way she tucked her hair back behind her ear when she picked up her child. Her warm …show more content…
At the time, Margaret was the only one with children; three in fact. The oldest - Sarah - just like her mother, always striving to be creative and do the best she could. At 10 years old, she was seven years older than me, and even then she would always look out for me. Melissa was 2, she was like a bottle of caffeine, always jumping from one thing to the next. Then there was baby Emily. All I can remember is that she was adorable, and she rarely cried.
The plan that day was for me to stay with Nana and Papa for the day while my mother had her interview. It would be nice to get to be with them for a bit, as we didn’t see them very often. When we arrived at the house, Margaret was there waiting, in a gray sweatshirt with “ARMY” written across the front in black letters, white plaid pajamas, white socks, and white Nike shoes. Her intention was to watch me for the day, so that I would get to play with her daughter Melissa, who a year younger than me at the time. It was all in good fun. These were my cousins, blood relatives or