Personal Narrative On Death

Shaking uncontrollably, I stretched out my arms to hold my little sister’s warm hands. Her brown eyes stared into mine, then at my mother’s caskets. She was confused. She was only four. She barely knew our mother or the concept of death. She wasn’t alone, we all was confused. After seven years of trying to make sense of my mother’s death, I was hit hard with another death. I sat in a dim light room in a hospitals with my three siblings. Across from us was stained glass windows, a statue of Jesus, and my teary eye grandmother who struggled to speak. She told us that our grandfather died and that we should say our goodbyes and prepare for his funeral which was to be held in two days. Two day flew by and we laid my grandfather in his final resting place and prepared to go back to boarding school the next day. After my arrival at school I went directly to my room avoiding anybody I could. It was quiet and I needed that because I needed to find something to keep me going in this moment of weakness. That’s when I find something so meaningful that ‘til this day it influences the decision I make. …show more content…
Then I recognize that there are something that you have completely control over, like how you live your life. My mother was a high school dropout. She smoked weed and got impregnated by a man, my father, a man who killed three people and nearly caught the death sentence. On the other hand, my grandfather was a veteran who raised three generation of children including my siblings and I. He earned two college degrees. What’s more amazing is that his family was extremely poor, he woke up and picked cotton to help his