Personal Narrative Essay On Death And Suicide

Katie Mallea
Mrs. Arnold
English 1301-5th
27 September 2012
Pulling the Plug To have the privilege of being born, we all must face the consequence of death. Some take the death of a loved one very poorly, while others take it fairly well. I just so happen to process death in an accepting manner. My mother isn’t so lucky. “Wake up!” I heard my mother whisper in my ear, “Today is the day.” My eyelids slowly opened only to see a white, lifeless ceiling staring me in the face. “Seriously, Get up!” my mother said in a hateful tone, “I don’t want to go through with this anymore than you do.” I slowly, but surely, dragged myself out of bed, forced myself to put on a decent looking outfit, and grabbed my bag while following my mother to our
car. Today was the day my mother’s decision took place. Taking the life of my grandfather. My grandfather had been in the hospital, on a ventilator, with little to no hope of recovery for weeks prior to this day, but my mother still didn’t want to be the one to end it. The relationship between my grandfather and my mother was irreplaceable; they were inseparable from my mother’s birth to now. Because my grandfather had no family besides my mother, she had to be the decision maker in the entire process. My mother is a very indecisive person, and to have such responsibility all in the palm of her hand was a complete burden. As my mother and I drove to the hospital I studied her face. Her eyes were droopy, the lines in her brow were more visible than usual, and she seemed to have a sense of guilt that filled up the entire car. “Are you ok?” I sympathetically asked her. I got no reply or even a reaction at all for that matter. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. My mother and I have always had a close relationship, but since my grandfather had been put in the hospital it seemed as if she was disgusted by the sight of my face. I understood that the situation was not one she was used to handling, but ignoring and feeling disgusted by your own daughter just wasn’t a concept I could wrap my mind around. “I know this is a scary day for you, but know that I’m here for you, mom…” I hesitantly spoke. She nodded her head and continued to drive. After a thirty minute, silent drive we had finally arrived to the hospital.
A thirty plus story building with new people, old people, dead people, sick people, healthy people and the people who the public rely on to fix and help those in need. Upon entrance to the actual building, a distinctive scent had the pleasure of meeting my nose. Before I had time to gag, my mother grabbed my arm and led me to the Intensive Care Unit publically known as ICU. The ICU was a horrifying place, in my opinion. People in an absolutely miserable state, capacitated the unit. Knowing that my grandfather was in such an awful state was terrifying, how could someone you love so unconditionally be so miserable? Blank faced, my mother guided me to the waiting
room. The waiting room was a big room full of all kinds of people, majorly families, friends, and religiously inclined people, such as priests.
I nervously took a seat next to my mother. Her anger and sadness did nothing but rub off on me, and caused my mother and I to conflict against each other. Once again sitting in silence, I heard a nurse call for the family of Robert Irving Burns. My mother and I stood up and following the nurse out of the waiting room and into my grandfather’s room. His room was a small, well kept room with one window, one door, one bed, and one patient. “Today is the day huh?” the nurse said calmly. My mother nodded. “Well when you give me the word, we will unplug all of the machines except for the heart rate monitor.” My grandfather was hooked up to a ventilator, and had a tube shoved down through his mouth so the air could inflate his lungs. He looked completely asleep with the tube down his throat, almost as if he knew nothing was even wrong. I’m not quite sure if he did know anything was wrong. His body was plump, but more swollen than usual. He had his eyes closed, and his hand was limp. I looked over at my mother and she told the nurse it was time. The nurse slowly grasped the tube and gently pulled it out of my grandfather’s throat. The moment it left his mouth, his eyes struck open, he body tensed up, and his hands clamped shut. My mother became hysterical and tried to do everything she could to help him, but he was already dying and there was
nothing she could do. After ten minutes of constant whining and suffering, a loud monotone sound drew out. His heart had finally stopped, and my grandfather had passed away in front of his only family. I glanced over at my mother, who had calmed herself down, and walked up to her to give her a hug. I put my arms around her waist and she pushed me off. She rejected my only gesture of comfort. I sat down in the chair beside my deceased grandfather and began to cry. I came to the conclusion that my mother and I would never be the same and that I would never see my grandfather alive again. Months passed and life got better. My mother and I still never gained back our relationship, but I realized that some things happen for a reason. Even though she and I may never be as close as we once were, we will always love each other like we always have. Life goes on.