Assignment points (summarized):
*Do you get a sense of the significance of the event for the writer and does it make an impact on you as a reader?
*Do you think the writer could improve the topic sentences anywhere in the essay?
*Be detailed! Any "filler"?
*Show Don't Tell: Does the writer "show" you what they understand now vs. then or just "tell" you?
*Has the writer engaged in the act of reflection?
*Does the writer's voice come alive on the page?
*Make a good entrance and a strong exit.
*Are there enough vivid examples in the essay? Do you as a reader have a question that you'd still like answered after reading this essay?
*Has the writer managed to balance the details of the experience and reflection on the experience and what it means to him or her today?
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Living Through Death
The drive from Eugene to Corvallis seemed to take forever. My vision was blurred at times from the haze my tears caused. I have found that it is never advisable to listen to the radio if you're going through a break up, dealing with death or otherwise feeling depressed. Inevitably a song will play, threatening to break you down. The song threatening to break me was "In the Arms of an Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. I chose to drive in silence which made the trip seem even longer and left me with only my thoughts.
I arrived at the Pastega House around nine o'clock in the evening. It's a hotel-like residence near the Good Samaritan hospital for family members and patients who live out of the area. The doors were locked so I rang the doorbell. An older gentleman answered and I followed him to my mom's room. He was talking but I wasn't listening because I was thinking he was being entirely too jolly and it was pissing me off. I realize now he was just trying to bring some sunshine into this place that, no doubt, needed it. He led me through the lobby past a living room area and a kitchen with twin refrigerators and stoves. There was a dining table large enough for a dozen people. In the several days I visited the Pastega House I don't recall seeing anyone use it. Just ahead on the left was my mom's room.
The short visit with my mom was a bit awkward. She was obviously upset and tired and I suspected she hadn't slept since Jimmy had been taken to the ICU the evening before. She seemed glad that I came, but said it wasn't necessary for me to stay because it was past hospital visiting hours. Since my aunt was staying with her, there would be no place for me to sleep anyway. I still feel a little guilty about having left that night after only an hour, but was secretly relieved at the time. I headed back to my boyfriend's house in Eugene where my sleep was restless with worry and dread for the inevitable visit to the ICU.
I arrived back in Corvallis around 9:30 in the morning. "Perfect timing" my mom greeted me with. "I was just going to the hospital to visit Jimmy." Perfect.
Looking back on that first visit seems like a dream. Or, more accurately, a nightmare. This was a completely different man than I'd seen less than two days before. His face was sallow, cheeks drawn in. His mouth hanging open to accommodate the breathing tube causing his lips to be dry, white and cracked. Countless tubes trailed from his body to the machines responsible for keeping him alive. The room was cramped and a nurse was there checking machines and IV fluids. I stood in the corner for fear that I might bump into something, endangering his already fragile life. I stood there, staring like an idiot with mandatory gloved hands clutched to my masked face. Mom called my name in a way that made me think of how you'd wake a sleepy child who fell asleep in the car.
"Tia. Do you want to come say hi?"
Without pause I said, "No! I don't want to be here."
A surge of claustrophobia hit me. The mask stifled my breathing and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. I began crying and plead with my eyes for my mom to give me permission to leave. She did.
"It's okay. Just go wait in the lobby for me, sis. I'll be out soon."
Feeling like a child for the way I was behaving I felt I needed to at least acknowledge Jimmy. Reluctantly, I walked over, put my hand lightly on his arm and kissed him gingerly on the forehead.
"See you later, Jimmy. Get better." The only lame words I could produce.
The next few months were filled with troubling news and visits with Jimmy that for some, would end up being their last. He was diagnosed with acute leukemia. To add insult to injury it's believed he received incompatible blood causing extensive damage to his liver and kidneys. He would have to get dialysis treatments the rest of his life. His coma medication was cut back in hopes that he would wake up and he did. At times it makes me sad for him. Can you imagine? Waking up to someone telling you your time is running out rapidly... it seems so inhumane. However, I am comforted by the fact that he had the opportunity to see his friends and family, including two biological daughters who flew in from Illinois.
His arrival home a few weeks later was bitter-sweet. He would walk around the house aimlessly, making ornery comments in his now weak, whispery old man voice. The comments would send us all into fits of laughter, but at the same time they weren't funny. My mother and I were in constant fear of finding him in his bed, not breathing. Twice in the ten days he was home, he had to be rushed to our local hospital and although Jimmy disapproved, it was in his best interest to go back to Good Samaritan in Corvallis. Not long after we were given false hope when they accepted him at OHSU for more aggressive chemotherapy. He never became strong enough to get those treatments and passed away in the afternoon of December 14. Two days before my birthday.
Having to deal with his dying made me feel helpless and insensitive. I'm extremely optimistic but held on loosely to hope after I saw the look in his eye. The same one my uncle Mike had when I visited him shortly before he died. For three months we watched Jimmy's transition from this world to the next. I cried only five times including the funeral. Am I so cold-hearted? Maybe some things are too difficult to face all at once and I don't want to face losing Jimmy.
There are many things I will miss about him. He had been my step-dad since I was nine. I'm now 28, so for nineteen years I enjoyed his famous barbecue, watched football games with him when my mother and sister would not and competed with him while watching Jeopardy. He had a huge record collection and introduced my sister and me to many of the classic rock artists that we still enjoy listening to. For many years I made him a pecan pie (his favorite) from scratch for his birthday. I'll miss the way he always acted so surprised and excited to get it and his refusal to share but I think I'll still make the pie on his birthday.
*Do you get a sense of the significance of the event for the writer and does it make an impact on you as a reader?
*Do you think the writer could improve the topic sentences anywhere in the essay?
*Be detailed! Any "filler"?
*Show Don't Tell: Does the writer "show" you what they understand now vs. then or just "tell" you?
*Has the writer engaged in the act of reflection?
*Does the writer's voice come alive on the page?
*Make a good entrance and a strong exit.
*Are there enough vivid examples in the essay? Do you as a reader have a question that you'd still like answered after reading this essay?
*Has the writer managed to balance the details of the experience and reflection on the experience and what it means to him or her today?
____________________________________________________________ _________________
____________________________________________________________ _________________
Living Through Death
The drive from Eugene to Corvallis seemed to take forever. My vision was blurred at times from the haze my tears caused. I have found that it is never advisable to listen to the radio if you're going through a break up, dealing with death or otherwise feeling depressed. Inevitably a song will play, threatening to break you down. The song threatening to break me was "In the Arms of an Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. I chose to drive in silence which made the trip seem even longer and left me with only my thoughts.
I arrived at the Pastega House around nine o'clock in the evening. It's a hotel-like residence near the Good Samaritan hospital for family members and patients who live out of the area. The doors were locked so I rang the doorbell. An older gentleman answered and I followed him to my mom's room. He was talking but I wasn't listening because I was thinking he was being entirely too jolly and it was pissing me off. I realize now he was just trying to bring some sunshine into this place that, no doubt, needed it. He led me through the lobby past a living room area and a kitchen with twin refrigerators and stoves. There was a dining table large enough for a dozen people. In the several days I visited the Pastega House I don't recall seeing anyone use it. Just ahead on the left was my mom's room.
The short visit with my mom was a bit awkward. She was obviously upset and tired and I suspected she hadn't slept since Jimmy had been taken to the ICU the evening before. She seemed glad that I came, but said it wasn't necessary for me to stay because it was past hospital visiting hours. Since my aunt was staying with her, there would be no place for me to sleep anyway. I still feel a little guilty about having left that night after only an hour, but was secretly relieved at the time. I headed back to my boyfriend's house in Eugene where my sleep was restless with worry and dread for the inevitable visit to the ICU.
I arrived back in Corvallis around 9:30 in the morning. "Perfect timing" my mom greeted me with. "I was just going to the hospital to visit Jimmy." Perfect.
Looking back on that first visit seems like a dream. Or, more accurately, a nightmare. This was a completely different man than I'd seen less than two days before. His face was sallow, cheeks drawn in. His mouth hanging open to accommodate the breathing tube causing his lips to be dry, white and cracked. Countless tubes trailed from his body to the machines responsible for keeping him alive. The room was cramped and a nurse was there checking machines and IV fluids. I stood in the corner for fear that I might bump into something, endangering his already fragile life. I stood there, staring like an idiot with mandatory gloved hands clutched to my masked face. Mom called my name in a way that made me think of how you'd wake a sleepy child who fell asleep in the car.
"Tia. Do you want to come say hi?"
Without pause I said, "No! I don't want to be here."
A surge of claustrophobia hit me. The mask stifled my breathing and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me. I began crying and plead with my eyes for my mom to give me permission to leave. She did.
"It's okay. Just go wait in the lobby for me, sis. I'll be out soon."
Feeling like a child for the way I was behaving I felt I needed to at least acknowledge Jimmy. Reluctantly, I walked over, put my hand lightly on his arm and kissed him gingerly on the forehead.
"See you later, Jimmy. Get better." The only lame words I could produce.
The next few months were filled with troubling news and visits with Jimmy that for some, would end up being their last. He was diagnosed with acute leukemia. To add insult to injury it's believed he received incompatible blood causing extensive damage to his liver and kidneys. He would have to get dialysis treatments the rest of his life. His coma medication was cut back in hopes that he would wake up and he did. At times it makes me sad for him. Can you imagine? Waking up to someone telling you your time is running out rapidly... it seems so inhumane. However, I am comforted by the fact that he had the opportunity to see his friends and family, including two biological daughters who flew in from Illinois.
His arrival home a few weeks later was bitter-sweet. He would walk around the house aimlessly, making ornery comments in his now weak, whispery old man voice. The comments would send us all into fits of laughter, but at the same time they weren't funny. My mother and I were in constant fear of finding him in his bed, not breathing. Twice in the ten days he was home, he had to be rushed to our local hospital and although Jimmy disapproved, it was in his best interest to go back to Good Samaritan in Corvallis. Not long after we were given false hope when they accepted him at OHSU for more aggressive chemotherapy. He never became strong enough to get those treatments and passed away in the afternoon of December 14. Two days before my birthday.
Having to deal with his dying made me feel helpless and insensitive. I'm extremely optimistic but held on loosely to hope after I saw the look in his eye. The same one my uncle Mike had when I visited him shortly before he died. For three months we watched Jimmy's transition from this world to the next. I cried only five times including the funeral. Am I so cold-hearted? Maybe some things are too difficult to face all at once and I don't want to face losing Jimmy.
There are many things I will miss about him. He had been my step-dad since I was nine. I'm now 28, so for nineteen years I enjoyed his famous barbecue, watched football games with him when my mother and sister would not and competed with him while watching Jeopardy. He had a huge record collection and introduced my sister and me to many of the classic rock artists that we still enjoy listening to. For many years I made him a pecan pie (his favorite) from scratch for his birthday. I'll miss the way he always acted so surprised and excited to get it and his refusal to share but I think I'll still make the pie on his birthday.