Eulogy For My Mother-Personal Narrative

I interviewed my grandmother. Her name is Sandra Sue Wardlaw. But I call her Mamaw. Mamaw was born in Dayton Ohio on July 25, 1938. She still lives in Dayton, but Brooklynn Dayton. Mamaws parents names are Roy and Ruth Strader. Roy is her dad and Ruth is her mom. Mamaw also has three sisters and one brother. Their names are Marcia, Cheryl, Lynn, and Jerry Strader. By now all of her sisters have married last names. Mamaw has lived all over Dayton Ohio. She attended Jefferson Township School System when she was in school. Mamaw is short and has grey hair. Sometimes she dies her hair blonde. She needs glasses to read and is very sassy.

The first footsteps we've ever taken are the ones that have imprinted the inside of our mothers' stomachs. Mothers don't just give birth to us, they give us a life to live. Now, some might say mothers are supposed to give birth; it's a natural process that is their duty. It's physically straining to have a child, but it takes a true warrior to raise a child. It is often forgotten how much they continuously provide for us and how many sacrifices they make. My mother has been my inspiration, not because of her title as my mother but because she is the prime example of a what I call a hero.

“No Mali. I said no and that’s it! Now go to your room, I’ll call you down when dinner is ready.”, my mom replied obviously annoyed.

“WHATEVER MOM GO BACK TO BEING A DRUGGIE,” I scream and run up to my room and slam my door.

As I am cooking breakfast Josh‘s mom enters the kitchen and says a simple good morning. I can tell she is tired and that seeing me in my pajamas every morning while she has to get ready for work is not very appealing. She always makes gestures on how lucky I am to

Kristin leaped at her opening. “You’re always ‘just saying’ something. You always have some comment on how I choose to live my life” she finished, her voice shrill as she put the car in drive, no longer looking at my mom. “Ever since I was a teenager, you’ve always picked picked picked at everything I do or say. I really am the black sheep of this family. Do you wish you’d never had me in the first place?! Maybe that’s why I never got parties. Do you even love your grandchildren? Can you?!”

“I always quarrel with my mother. She will hurt me cruelly and then say sorry. I can’t bear this torture. I have to adjust my personality to live with her.”

now. The only thing I can do now is pray and hope. To pray that I will

The day later, my mom brings two bottles of white wines to return by herself. I saw two missing calls from my mom during my break time. I called her and ask where she at and I meet her at the place I work. I walk out the store where I work and saw my mom still carry the bag of wines. I ask her “why you call me two times, and do you return the wines yet?” She said discontinuously “I…I just went already” breathing, she continues saying “The person won’t let me return the wines, only exchange that’s the reason I want to

My Isabelle is to be wed! My sweet rose! I cannot bear it! The idea of another running his unworthy fingers through her raven hair, of another caressing her lily-white cheek – it brings me to utter madness, I confess! Isabelle Smith to be wed December 13th, read The Gazette. It should be me, you must know! But they interfered… Five, agonising years without my Isabelle whilst she suffered five, agonising years without me. I had almost lost the memory of her tender face, her childish demeanour, that sing-song voice that would soothe me into syrupy slumber… I am entranced by the photograph used of her in the newspaper, for it is the first time in an eternity our eyes have met. She has blossomed into her eighteenth year with every grace – in spite

“Jingle, jingle.” To the sound of Santa’s sleigh bells in the distance, I awoke. I looked out the window and saw Santa Clause soaring across the country sky. My heart leaped and I ran downstairs right away. The cookies and milk I had left for Santa were eaten and there were so many presents on the floor around the tree. Then, I heard the door of my brother’s room squeak open and he, still half asleep, walked down the stairs and came and hugged me. As we were looking at the presents we both saw one with our names written on it. Together, we tore open the wrapping paper to find a small stuffed bear. We read the note we found inside stating that this was his first toy he had ever made and he wanted us, two ordinary boys to have it. After that

I can still remember vividly the day my mother passed away. My mother passed away at a critical point in my life when I was seventeen years old from a short term illness. She was sick for a week and I remember thinking this could be serious, however, my mother declined to go to the hospital because of the distance and financial hardship. I had loss my father when I was three years old, so my mother was a single mother. I have step sisters and brother, but I was not particularly close to them. Losing my mother was a defining moment in my life for it changed my life irrevocably. I was devastated, but I had to become strong, proactive and it spurred me to choose a new career path.

“Oh, there you are.” My mama said, peering in at me from just outside the room’s archway. “Come on upstairs and pick out which room you want to be yours.”

Now I can say that I had never understood others suffering from a bad loss of a dear person.  I would hate to hear that anybody died. When this happened to me, when my dear mother died, I started to understand all those people who lost someone they loved. There are perhaps no proper words to describe this pain, This intolerable pain which tears you apart, which is like a stone on your heart, and which make tears run down your face with each moment spent with the dear person who passed away. Time is unlikely to pass so fast this hurt, no matter what others claim.

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s