I once described losing my mother as like the sky suddenly falling down. My mother carried me for 9 months, gave birth to me, was the first sight I ever set my eyes upon, fed me when I was hungry, got no sleep for months when I woke her up crying at night, changed my nappies, watched me smile when I recognised her face, start to crawl, take my first steps, say my first word.
Frequently asked questions about the This I Believe project, educational opportunities and more Murrow's radio series of the s.
It's perfect for personal or classroom use! Click here to learn more. Sponsor This Essay I believe that we should talk to strangers. By engaging in unexpected, friendly conversation with strangers, our lives can be affected in ways that are extraordinary.
I learned this valuable and life-changing experience during my sophomore year of college. This is not done intentionally, but rather instinctively.
Similarly, I never strike up a conversation on a three-hour plane flight or know the name of the woman I ride the train with every day. But the process of keeping to myself ended in a life-changing way. One night, a little old man, probably in his eighties, came in and sat in my section.
I took his order and went on my way. But I noticed that he came in week after week and always sat at one of my tables. Slowly, I began having short conversations with my new guest.
His name was Mr. Rodgers, but he insisted that I call him Don. I learned that he and his wife had gone to dinner and a movie every Saturday. Since she had died, he carried on the tradition alone. I began looking forward to him coming in and telling me his movie reviews. I also knew his order by heart: As the weeks went on I began to sit and really talk with Don.
We talked about his wife, his days flying in the war, his son who had grown and moved away. Eventually, we began to talk about my ambitions — going to school, my new husband, and the anticipation of my future. About four months after meeting Mr. He was experiencing complications from an emergency heart surgery and had begun to bleed internally.
I immediately drove to the hospital to see him. The first thing he did was thank me for urging him to visit the doctor.
Then I remembered that about three weeks earlier, Don was complaining about chest pains and I gave him the number for a doctor I know. I recently found myself really talking to customers at the restaurant. I have had a lot more fun, the time has gone by faster, and I have gotten to know some of the people I see on a regular basis.
Don taught me that life can be much more enjoyable if I engage in friendly conversations. After all, I became more than just his waitress. I became his friend.
Since writing this essay as a student at Lewis University, Sabrina Dubik has graduated and left behind her waitressing job to begin her career as an English teacher at Minooka High School.
While teaching, she strives to inspire enthusiasm for literature, writing, and the art of living life.My mom died of lung cancer about a year and a half ago. The first week of my senior year in highschool.
She fought it for 2 years and then it came back. She fought even harder still but the doctors gave her months to live. Before we knew it her lungs were filling up with liquid from the tumors and she got pneumonia.
She died within a few days. When someone you love dies, that part of you dies as well. You can’t re-live that memory with anyone else.
Your puzzle may grow, but you can never replace that missing piece. And because of that, I will never be the same again. My view of the world also changed. Before Dad died, I was young, innocent, and naive. He spent his last weeks in a hospice, the hospice that my mother also died in.
Except that she sat by his side every day. Desperately as he would have wanted to, John wasn't able to do that for her. Here are some of the most beautiful and insightful personal essays that BuzzFeed staff and contributors wrote this year (in the order they were published).
but when my sister died, I realized there are some things you can never plan for." "Every single day since she died, I have wished for my mother back. But I’m glad she won’t be.
Jun 15, · She died 10 days later. Amy couldn’t have known that her essay would afford me an opportunity to fill this same column with words of my own for Father’s Day, telling you what has happened since.
I don’t pretend to have Amy’s extraordinary gift with words and wordplay, but here goes. Before she was born but after she was dead, I decided that there must be a book.