Personal Narrative: How Death Changed My Life

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Growing up, I’d always thought that death was the worst thing that could ever happen to a person, but it wasn’t until halfway through my sophomore year that I discover the truth. I had never really thought about the horror of watching someone you love wither away into a shadow of their former self; that was something that happened in books and movies, not in real life and definitely not to me. I was only 15 when my grandmother finally decided that it was time to take my mom up on her offer and come live with us. Her motivation? She knew she didn’t have much time left and wanted to spend her final moments at our house with her family. After about three weeks at our house, she was gone. I had thought that her death would be the most difficult thing for me to deal with, but, in reality, it was the time she spent dying at our house that really…show more content…
In fiction, the dying relative is serene, calm, at peace with their impending demise; they offer pearls of wisdom to the grandchildren and maintain a sort of graceful dignity. Reality is much less glamourous. My grandma was loud, rude, scared, in pain, and sometimes took a couple minutes to remember who I was. I was absolutely terrified of her, of what she’d become, and of the yawning abyss of death that waited for her. For the first few days after she’d started living with us, I tried my best to avoid her and hide away in my room. I think the moment I realized I needed to step up was when my mom needed help with my grandma. My dad was at work, like he was most of the time, and so my mom called up the stairs at my brother and I. The two of us looked at each other, and I saw how absolutely petrified he was of going downstairs and even looking at my grandma. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that even though I was only 15, my brother was only
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