She Walks With Angels
Few things in our lives will ever prepare usemotionally, for the death of a loved one. The sadness,anger, and comfort that fills the heart cannot be imagined. It was within the last five minutes of my mothers life, thatI realized that I was not prepared. As I stood on the sideof the bed and watched her gasp for precious air, myMy first thoughts became those that were filled withsadness. I felt deep sadness and regret, and wondered if mymother ever knew how much I idolized her. Did I really everreturn the love and care that she gave me? My eyes sawsadness when looking at the lifeless figure of wrinkled skinthat my mother had become. This by no means was the samewoman who used to wrestle with me and my brothers, and beatus all. No way could it be the same strong woman, that usedto play tackle football with me when I was little. I remember one time, when I was about 8 or 9 years old,I came into the house crying. My mother asked me what waswrong. I told her that my two older brothers were gangingup on me in tackle football. She asked the usual motherquestions, and when she found out that they had ch
That wouldbe the last play of the game, as both my brothers startedwhining about how unfair the teams were. As mymother's breathing again became more sporadic, and the veinsin her neck began to show the push of all her muscles tryingto grab all the oxygen that they could, I pushed themorphine overload. As I pushed that damn, soothing yellow button, with itsgreen letters, I took great pride and comfort knowing that Iwould help to end my mother's suffering. I tookcomfort in the fact that this body would soon take its'rightful place beneath the dirt, and also in the fact thatmy dad would be able to start living again. I was mad! Why in the hell did I have to lose mymother, my teammate? "Why god, why her?" God had chosenthe one person that had been a steady and very influencingfactor in my life to join his band of angels. To know that thecomfort that I would provide with the morphine, would belike that of which she made me feel many times throughout mylife. I was mad at the fact that my mother was beingconsumed, eaten, by a disease that didn't play fair. Myanger only grew worse when I started to think of the painand suffering that she must be enduring or had endured. Now my mother was no giant by any means. As she gasped for the last time, I bent downand hug my eternal teammate, my angel for the last time. Though she told them that she didn'tmean to hurt them, we all knew the truth. She was 5'1"tall and about 140 pounds, but on the first play ofscrimmage, I hiked the ball to my mother and she went aroundthe right end running over both my brothers. Both my brothers got up holding various body partsand cringing in pain. As I processed these thoughts ofsadness I soon became angry.
Common topics in this essay:
Walks Angels,
Thompson WRT,
tackle football,
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