Excitement of meeting my new brother;Significant influence/Pharmacy Schools/CommonApp

Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.

What He Gave
"Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form." - Rumi

I gaze at the neatly framed photo next to my bed and am instantly overwhelmed with many bittersweet memories at once. First was of my mother, whose grin stretched beyond her ears as she stared in awe at the two faint and fuzzy lines. Second were of the heaps of "Big Sister!" shirts in infinite shades of feminine colors. Last were of the occasional trips to the same place: a tiny and dimly lit room with walls lined with various pictures of babies and a rather lengthy chair next to an odd beeping machine I never got used to. Each visit was rewarded with yet another hazy black and white picture my parents pasted in our family scrapbook. I remember giving in to the contagious excitement of meeting my new brother, but my eagerness was cut short. I finally break away from the photo and return to my reality as the killer word echoes in my mind-stillborn.

Even at four years old, I could sense the intensity between my parents. I felt pressured to make the atmosphere relaxed again. My efforts failed miserably when we returned to the familiarly harsh hospital for an autopsy report. Caressed in my father's arms, I was at eye level with the white coat as he droned endlessly about "pharmaceutical drugs", "deadly side effects", "exposure to prescribed medicine during pregnancy", and topped it off with the famous and anticipated "I'm sorry for your loss". As I grew up, those overused five words gently dissolved into nothing. What is there to be sorry for? Because of my brother, I learned there is nothing I can experience that will compare-even the slightest-to death. There is no reason to sulk and wonder about the "what if's".

My life is different from others as a result of my brother's premature death, but I have gained invaluable understanding of platonic love while most of my peers did not. I feel responsible for righting the wrongs, avenging my brother, and educating others about the imminent dangers of pharmaceutical drugs if side effects are not taken seriously. I am allowed this life to experience what I did and that in itself is reason enough why I am passionate about preventing others from wandering into the same path.

My brother's death isn't as tragic as many people make it to be. He has given me purpose and prepared me for life's downs. He has taught me precious lessons and that I need to simply be grateful for what life offers me. He has helped me find myself and inspired me to help others. Because of this, there is no reason for anyone to be sorry, as he has always been a blessing and never a loss to me. I turn back to look at the framed sonogram on my drawer a last time before making my way to pharmacy shadow, and remember everything he's given me.

Please criticize!
Wordr Count: 500

As I gaze at the neatly framed photo next to my bed and I am instantly overwhelmed with many bittersweet memories at once. The first was of my mother, whose grin stretched beyond her ears as she stared in awe at the two faint and fuzzy lines. Second were of the heaps of "Big Sister!" shirts in infinite shades of pink . Last were of the occasional trips to the same place: a tiny and dimly lit room with walls lined with various pictures of babies and a rather lengthy chair next to an odd beeping machine I never got used to. Each visit was rewarded with yet another hazy black and white picture my parents pasted in our family scrapbook. I remember giving in to the contagious excitement of meeting my new brother, but my eagerness was cut short. I finally break away from the photo and return to reality as the word echoes in my mind-stillborn.

Even at four years old, I could sense the intensity between my parents. I felt pressured to make the atmosphere relaxed again. My efforts failed miserably when we returned to the familiarly harsh hospital(too many adj?) for an autopsy report. Caressed in my father's arms, I was at eye level with the white coat as he droned endlessly about "pharmaceutical drugs", "deadly side effects", "exposure to prescribed medicine during pregnancy", and topped it off with the famous and anticipated "I'm sorry for your loss". As I grew up, those overused five words gently dissolved into nothing. What is there to be sorry for? Because of my brother, I learned there is nothing I can experience that will compare-even the slightest-to death. There is no reason to sulk and wonder about the "what if's".

I have gained invaluable understanding of platonic love while most of my peers did not. I feel responsible for righting the wrongs, avenging my brother, and educating others about the imminent dangers of pharmaceutical drugs if side effects are not taken seriously. I am allowed this life to experience what I did and that in itself is reason enough why I am passionate about preventing others from wandering into the same path.

My brother's death isn't as tragic as many people make it to be. He has given me purpose and prepared me for life's downs. He has taught me precious lessons and that I need to simply be grateful for what life offers me. He has helped me find myself and inspired me to help others. Because of this, there is no reason for anyone to be sorry, as he has always been a blessing and never a loss to me. I turn back to look at the framed sonogram on my drawer a last time before making my way to pharmacy shadow,(?) and remember everything he's given me.

I like how the mood changes midway, although it's pretty heavy stuff. I love the way you write! Besides insignificant errors, its perfectly fine. This is my first time editing so I apologize if i did anything wrong.