My Father s Death. It is Thursday, March 09, My father is napping on the living room couch at

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1 O Brien 1 Melinda O Brien Mr. Herrera EGL Narrative Essay October 03, 2007 My Father s Death It is Thursday, March 09, My father is napping on the living room couch at my mother s house. They re divorced but remain good friends. I wake my father up and annoy him for some money so I can go to Golf Mill Mall and buy a CD. I m craving an orange and bother him to slice one for me. I can slice one for myself but prefer the way my father slices one. He uses a knife to peel away the skin and cuts the orange into horizontal slices. I m twenty years old, yet my father spoils me like a child. I eat my orange quickly. With the money my father gives me, I walk to the mall. The weather is mild for this time of year. It s evening and seventy degrees. I m wearing a short sleeve shirt, shorts, and flip flops. The gentle breeze caresses my face as I walk. After purchasing the CD at the mall, I take the Pace bus because I m too tired to walk back home. As I m getting off of the bus, my father is waiting at the bus stop to get on. There is a lady in back of me exiting the bus. She has a hard time walking. She s carrying her purse and a bag of food from Sabarro s Pizza. My father is nice enough to help her walk down the steps. For a split second, I have the urge to hug my father and tell him I love him. I stop myself from doing it, out of embarrassment of how strange I will look to the passengers. Instead, I wave good-bye and watch him board the bus.

2 O Brien 2 The next morning, I wake up to a loud piercing sound. It is eight o clock in the morning. The telephone is ringing in the kitchen. My mother is calling me from her office. She s been trying to call my father at his house and gets no response. My mother s voice sounds worried. You re father didn t show up to work, she says. It s unlike my father to not go to work without calling someone. After speaking with my mother, I call my dad s house and leave a message on his answering machine. We are worried and want to make sure that everything is okay. At noon, I get a call from his brother-in-law s sister Consuelo. She had gone to my father s house to check on him. There is dead silence after she says that my father is still in bed. He has the blankets pulled up over his face, and his arm is dangling loosely over the side of the bed. I get the most gut wrenching feeling that something isn t right. At that moment, I hear the doorbell ringing in the background. Consuelo puts the phone receiver down before she goes to answer the door. It s my mother at my father s house during her lunch break checking up on him. Suddenly, I hear my mother shout, Consuelo, hang up the phone and call 911! Consuelo hangs up, and I hear a dial tone. I panic and call my grandmother, my mother s mother. I cry hysterically on the phone and tell her, Grandma, I think my daddy s dead! I quickly explain to her what has happened. She doesn t understand why I would think so morbidly and tells me to calm down until I hear back from my mother. I keep crying and repeating myself, Grandma, I think my daddy s dead! My mother finally calls me back. It s Saturday, March 11, I m in shock over the fact that my father is dead. Yesterday, my father was pronounced dead on arrival by the emergency medical crew. An autopsy later revealed to us that he died of a heart attack in his sleep. My best friend

3 O Brien 3 is gone, and I am partially accepting it. I go through the motions of preparing the funeral arrangements over the telephone with my older brother Juan. He s in as much shock as I am over the sudden death of our father. Juan and I go to Oehler s Funeral Home to pick out the casket where my father s body will lie. The funeral home director takes us down to the lower level where the caskets are so that we can take a look at them. I never knew there were so many to choose from. We end up picking the second from the lowest priced coffin because we don t have a lot of money, and my father didn t have a life insurance policy. The coffin we choose is a dark reddish brown metal. It has a creamy white satin lining and is supposed to be waterproof. I can t wait to leave the lower level of the funeral home. It s stuffy and smells of formaldehyde. After leaving Oehler s Funeral Home, we go to the flower shop and look through pages of floral arrangements. Our final decision is an arrangement of dark red roses. They are blood red and have a scent that reminds me of a sandalwood and vanilla mix. I ve always been told that red roses are for love, and in this situation I can t think of a better flower. We tell the owner of the flower shop to place a satin sash across the floral arrangement with the words Beloved Father across the center. Our final stop is the All Saints Cemetery on River Road in Des Plaines. It s a Catholic cemetery where another family member is buried. We pick out our father s final resting place. The burial site has several Oak trees surrounding it. When my father was alive, he used to enjoy spending humid summer days sitting underneath an Oak tree that was in front of my childhood home. Now, he can enjoy the brisk shade of several Oak trees in his death.

4 O Brien 4 It is now three days after my father s death. I m in my bedroom and wake up early this morning and put on a knee-length black dress with white pin stripes. I try to get myself mentally prepared for my father s wake. I have never attended a wake or a funeral before, and my first one has to be my father s. It is late afternoon when my mother and I arrive at Oehler s Funeral Home. I see some family members that I haven t seen in over a year. They are standing together in small groups. Some are crying and saying their own little prayers. Others are whispering to one another and reminiscing about my father. The room begins to feel hot from all the people crowding into a small area. The smell of sweat lingers in the air. I find myself kneeling alone beside my father s casket. I look at him in awe at how much he looks like the person he was before his death. He lies there so tranquil, as if he s asleep. He s wearing his British khaki pants and a black long sleeve cotton polo shirt. He has his favorite belt and watch. I place my hand on his chest and whisper a little prayer, God, please take good care of my daddy. Please let him know how much I love him and forgive him of all his sins. Allow him to be in heaven with you. Amen. I suddenly realize that my hand is lying over some stitches underneath my father s shirt. I cry with the knowledge that my father s chest has been sliced open for the autopsy to be performed. My eyes roam slowly investigating his body. I now see his head and the area they opened right behind his ears. His eyes are sewn shut. Poor daddy, what did they do to you? I begin to sob and cannot hold back the anguish that s building up inside of me. I lunge my body toward my father and throw my arms around him, Oh daddy, why did you have to die? My mother is suddenly at my side with her arms wrapped around me so

5 O Brien 5 lovingly. My mother is not an affectionate type of person. Her motherly intentions touch my heart as she ushers me away from my father s casket and gently seats me onto a chair. I m alone for the majority of the evening collecting my thoughts. I begin to remember that from the time I was a child to the day of his death my father had always been there for me. I was able to talk to him for hours about anything. He was my confidante, my best friend. I feel guilty for being too embarrassed to hug him in front of the bus passengers the last day he was alive. I wish I could go back and hold him tightly. I m so ashamed of myself for worrying about what others would have thought of me. It s too late to change the past, and I have to deal with it for the rest of my life. My father is dead and the reality of it finally gets a hold of me. In front of everyone, I begin to cry again, only this time I don t care what they think of me. I still miss my daddy very much. My father s death has shown me how to appreciate every day for what it is and accept things for what they are. I ve learned to appreciate my family more and not be so worried about showing them affection. I now try to enjoy every moment with those around me.