Realizations of Loss Essay -- Personal Narrative

It is no longer the syndicate I grew up in. The loss of my mother is evident straightaway more than invariably, cementing the realization of how one persons impact can be as much the foundation of a home as the cover itself. It has been two years since our lives changed forever. My dad is recently remarried and trying to move in advance after losing his wife of almost thirty-eight years to terminal head word cancer. Since my mothers death and my fathers subsequent remarriage, our family theater has lost its comfortable feel of home in its place now resides a reflective sadness, an impersonal emptiness, and a surreal urgency.The financial certifying and dine rooms are now tidy and impersonal. Gone is the familiar mares nest of childrens books and teaching aides. The half-finished crosswords and other reading material are no longer in their stacks next her chair in the living room. The chair isnt even thither anymore. It had traveled with Mom to hospice assistance a fter a stroke left her unable to walk. Another major difference is the remodeling activity. Since my parents purchased this house when I was four, they had remodeling plans. Somewhere on the way, everyday life and complacency had unceasingly gotten in the way. Lately, almost as if in defiance of the past, my fathers current do it now, there may not be a later attitude had interpreted over. He is currently working on the upstairs master bedroom. My parents had always wanted to make one large master bedroom bring out of two adjacent bedrooms upstairs, but it always seemed to take a back seat to more urgent fixes or budgetary needs. The two peculiar(a) bedrooms upstairs now stood as one, finally coming closer towards their fruition. The looking at of fresh paint brings a sad nostalgia running by dint of me. wherefore isn... ...as my family, my childhoodmy mother.As time passes, I know that I bequeath have to accept that what once was will never be again. peradven ture things would be easier if my dad and his second wife moved to a divers(prenominal) house, but that is not my decision to make. Change is part of life and piece sometimes it is wonderful, other times it is a painful journey in which we feel alone, even abandoned. My home, the place I grew up in, was not so much the walls themselves, but the person who created the security that I felt through an unconditional sock. That is what a home is home is a nonjudgmental, irreplaceable love that can still see your best even when you are at your worst. Those of us who have had that kind of home should feel fortunate. I didnt realize how fortunate I truly was until I stood within its absence. I know I do now, in more ways than ever before.