I never really fully cried, but I did loose a lot of sleep after my grandparents death. My mother was worried for a while because I would not sleep and my health was beginning to diminish. She ended up taking me to the doctor and they declared that I was suffering from insomnia. There was no explanation, but I knew that I was still grieving my grandparents, it was the only way that I could; since no one would know that I would cry in the middle of the night. About a couple of months later, everything was beginning to go back to normal, I still do not have the courage to speak about my grandmother or grandfather without shedding a tear.
Next morning, my dad wasn’t there with us, it felt lonely, as if part of my heart was not there with me. I wanted to cry, but I knew that my dad was not there with us physically but he was with us in our hearts. As time passed, my mom asked us if we wanted to go to The United States and my sister and I were so happy, we said yes because our dad was up there.
My mother kept breaking down into tears and my father kept comforting her, and I assumed that it was just a result of my behavior and that it wasn’t a big deal. If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t really care what was wrong. I was blinded by nostalgia and I focused more on the people I had just left behind than the people who had been there for me for the entirety of my life right in front of me. The six hour drive home that followed was miserable, as I refused to talk to anyone. My parents made multiple efforts to begin conversation, as they were curious how the program went.
For example, the text stated on page 216, “As much as I miss my mother, I am glad she died first. Otherwise I would have buried my father without ever having known him.” Claire places a criticism and compliment together to lessen the impact of a death. Even though she struggled with the loss of her mother, she remained optimistic when spending time with her father. Lastly, in order for the author to articulate with detail the severity of managing a life with terminally ill parents, Claire included enumeratio. For example, the text stated on page 117, “Chemo, radiation, radical tests and treatments, a college semester dropped out of, a life completely changed.” To stress the struggle Claire had with adapting to the new situation, the author listed the everyday activities involved, creating the effect that the fight is never-ending.
He gets his note pad out for the last time writing the date 11/06/16 two years later exactly from her husband’s death. Once again feeling exposed explaining what happened, until he asked that one question…. “After all this time Sarah, two years of these sessions, you have realised that he’s gone, you have started to focus on yourself, your family and most of all that what happened is not your fault… are you ready to move on, not to forget, however to let go?” In that moment Sarah felt relieved after two years, today was the day she felt no guilt and after all this time she was just afraid to let go. Franks accident solved the tension and nothing else, not the past, not how he should treat her equal, nothing, though they both acknowledged
It was all futile though. We spent thousands of dollars trying to persuade companies. John- Why didn’t it work though? NP- It worked for a short period of time, then the Bureau of Indian Affairs relocated most of our people anyway to places such as Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Denver. They called it the Indian Relocation Act of 1956.
I miss those cards and regret all the ones that were thrown away over the years, but cherish the few I have left. In all actuality, I stopped celebrating the big holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas a couple of years after she was gone as it was just easier than dealing with the memories. I can’t stand seeing people complain about their parents. I have a couple of friends that have downright disowned their own mothers over issues that are entirely petty. One of these mothers I speak to regularly and her entire world has been shattered when her daughter stopped speaking to her and never allows her to see her grandkids for nearly four years now.
Many years ago as a child, I had a real life dollhouse in my backyard. It was something my father and my grandfather had surprised me with one Christmas. It was my happy place, where I was perfectly content and in peace. I would go in there for hours upon hours, not realizing how much time would pass by, without a care in the world simply reading my books or cooking for my dolls. In that dollhouse I felt invincible.
For some, my Papa, for example, the news that they had passed away came from nowhere but for others, like my Granda, I watched them deteriorate over time. Regardless of how I 've come to cross paths with death, it 's never been easy. The first time I remember losing someone: I was only four. My Great Uncle Edward meant the world to me, and although I was very young I have many fond memories of him. From eating porridge together in the mornings to helping my mum clean his house, not a day went by I wasn 't in his company.