Draw a monster. Now, why is it a monster?
My own mother was probably the best mother she could be. Not only because she loved me unconditionally, but because she knew what a poor example that her mother, my grandmother, taught her.
A common weekend activity with my mom consisted of us driving to McDonald’s and ordering my favorite breakfast meal. Hotcakes and sausage with an extra sausage, but it wasn’t quite that innocent. My mother would also order a meal for herself and pretend she didn’t notice me taking her hash brown. She would always say, “They forgot to put my hash brown in the bag.” Yet we both knew where that missing hash brown went. She just went along, like any great mother would, and as time progressed order an additional hash …show more content…
All I could remember is the way people started to treat me. A small, shameful part of me begins to realize the upside to my mother’s death. For the unforeseeable future, it seems like I will get away with whatever I want. Because surely a boy who had just lost his mother will not be denied what he desires in his grief. Surely Not. And even as I am having these thoughts, I am aware what a horrible person I must be. Who thinks like this? Who thinks about using the death of a parent as a means to get things he wants? As it turned out, it was me. Why do I not feel tormented with grief? Isn 't that what you 're supposed to feel when a parent dies? Am I …show more content…
Afterward a wave of people emerged from their seats to form a single filed line to say their last goodbyes. Unfortunately, that is also where my family and I were too. Simultaneously, people approached us as well to shake our hands and tell us that they were sorry for our loss. “I’m sorry for your loss,” which at the time I did not realize was the spoken language of death.
The cemetery was conveniently located next to the service in the church. Soon, the whole thing is completely over. I watch as the ground cover her coffin marking her tomb. We drive home, and I return to finish my last days in middle school.
Everything goes back to as normal as it can be. Rather than feeling the loss of my mother pass subside with years, I feel my emotions more intensely. As if my emotions were their own individuals crying out. “I want my mother.” And I still feel like this 6 years
My own mother was probably the best mother she could be. Not only because she loved me unconditionally, but because she knew what a poor example that her mother, my grandmother, taught her.
A common weekend activity with my mom consisted of us driving to McDonald’s and ordering my favorite breakfast meal. Hotcakes and sausage with an extra sausage, but it wasn’t quite that innocent. My mother would also order a meal for herself and pretend she didn’t notice me taking her hash brown. She would always say, “They forgot to put my hash brown in the bag.” Yet we both knew where that missing hash brown went. She just went along, like any great mother would, and as time progressed order an additional hash …show more content…
All I could remember is the way people started to treat me. A small, shameful part of me begins to realize the upside to my mother’s death. For the unforeseeable future, it seems like I will get away with whatever I want. Because surely a boy who had just lost his mother will not be denied what he desires in his grief. Surely Not. And even as I am having these thoughts, I am aware what a horrible person I must be. Who thinks like this? Who thinks about using the death of a parent as a means to get things he wants? As it turned out, it was me. Why do I not feel tormented with grief? Isn 't that what you 're supposed to feel when a parent dies? Am I …show more content…
Afterward a wave of people emerged from their seats to form a single filed line to say their last goodbyes. Unfortunately, that is also where my family and I were too. Simultaneously, people approached us as well to shake our hands and tell us that they were sorry for our loss. “I’m sorry for your loss,” which at the time I did not realize was the spoken language of death.
The cemetery was conveniently located next to the service in the church. Soon, the whole thing is completely over. I watch as the ground cover her coffin marking her tomb. We drive home, and I return to finish my last days in middle school.
Everything goes back to as normal as it can be. Rather than feeling the loss of my mother pass subside with years, I feel my emotions more intensely. As if my emotions were their own individuals crying out. “I want my mother.” And I still feel like this 6 years