Personal Experience

It was a realization that she is gone, truly gone, and now at home. The day was June 17th, 2017. It was an enjoyable warm day in Defiance, Ohio. The sky seemed too baby blue and the sun was out. I stood in my house, the windows were clear, with a warm, faint breeze. The birds chirped, and whistled with song. After glancing out the window, I just buttoned the last slippery button on my dress shirt. Then my mom questioned, “Are you ready?”

“Yes mom,” I answered.

We strolled out the door and left my house. My mom drove her car to the car wash. With a quick thunder of cloudy bubbles and pressurized water, ending with a rage of pressurized air, her car was a clean new penny. Then we made our way to the funeral home. 

On the way to the funeral home, I couldn’t stop recalling what, had happened a few days and years before. My aunt wasn’t married, and she survived by herself in a trailer. Every time I visited her, she had a story to tell. She also always called me, “Bricetin boy,” and gave me an enormous, warm hug every time I left. 

One crisp, warm summer day, my mom and I completed a few chores around the house. I sat in my room, and my mother was folding our fuzzy, warm laundry. 

Then out of the blue, like a surprise party, my mother received a call from my aunt. 

My aunt exclaimed, “My air conditioner stopped working. It is blazing hot in here! Could you come get my money from me and get me a new one, please?” 

My mother asserted, “Yes, of course, we can.”

My dad drove to Walmart, along with my family, and purchased the brand-new air conditioner. Once we arrived at her trailer, after walking in wet grass, my dad and I installed it. 

After about a half an hour later, my family left. I remained with her for a while to make sure she cooled down. She was a bigger set woman, and she took quite a variety of medications to sustain her health. Anytime she laid her medication out and took it, she made absolutely sure that the cap was twisted tightly on that pill bottle. We ate some scrumptious pepperoni pizza and her favorite gooey cheese sticks from Padrones. We played Battleship and Go Fish, until 8:30p.m. when my mom picked me up.

I gave my aunt a massive hug and expressed, “Bye, love you.”

She responded, “Bye, Bricetin boy. Love you, too.”

After a fun-filled day of riding all the rides and having the time of my life, I returned home. Tired and exhausted, I told my mom all the details about my first time at Cedar Point. 

I then stated to my mother, “How is Aunt Peg?”

She looked at me with tears in her eyes and disclosed, “She passed away last night, bud.”

“Oh,” I responded.

In the course of five words, my life changed. I drug myself to my room, fell on my bed, and started crying. Depressed and full of anger, it felt as if I was being punched in the gut over and over again. My face reddened with anger, I clenched my fists and struck down onto my legs many times; furious at myself.

For a length of time, I set the blame on myself because I believe that I might have been the last person she could have interacted or spoken with. After feeling like an eternity, but only hours later after cooling off, I felt better.

 I learned the next day that she tripped, fell, and started to bleed and couldn’t get up to call for help. A few days later, I started feeling better, fixed myself up, and put my feelings aside. 

About two days or so before her funeral, my mother mentioned, “Do you want to be a Pallbearer?”

I then replied, “Yes.”

While going into the funeral home, it smelled like musty, decrepit, tan furniture. The scent lingers in my mind, that I will never forget to this day. I entered the room, and there were most of my mom’s family. I said hi to my family, and then I proceeded up to the casket. While approaching the casket, a strong amount of sadness brushed over me, not the sadness like the night she died, but rather relief. I felt the kind of relief where I knew that she is in a much better place and isn’t suffering. My aunt looked frozen as ice; it scared me and brought tears to my eyes. I said a little prayer while standing by her and then retired to my seat.

When the pastor finished talking and the family and friends went to their cars, the Pallbearers moseyed to our spots. Then the other Pallbearers and I grasped onto the casket and escorted her to the hearse. The police car drove off first, and the hearse followed. My mom followed, along with most of the family and friends, to her place of burial. Then again, we took our spots and advanced towards her grave. The pastor let two snowy, feathery doves, free from a cage, symbolising that she is now free and in heaven to please the Lord. It was a realization that she is gone, truly gone, and now at home. Looking back on this dreary experience, it showed me how short life is and to always consider how easy it is to forget. It has shaped me to elaborate on what I can do to help others. I can possibly offer advice on anything that is needed advised on, or simply being courteous towards others. I live in the moment, and I don’t look on the past.