engineer. And saying “my Dad died when I was 11” rolls off of my tongue in a way that it never has before. It’s been nine years. Time has passed. Things have gotten easier. His death is no longer where my thoughts default when nothing else is distracting me. I don’t think about him every time someone mentions his or her father in conversation. And‚ I don’t think about him every time someone asks about my own family. I do think about him though. Every single day. It’s still hard. I watch a girl dancing
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My dad is my hero A father is a person that everybody in the world should love. I love my father because he has taken care of me since I was born and not only did he took care of me but he also loved me‚ protected me when I was little. And has helped me in everything I had needed. Therefore my father is m hero. I cannot remember a person in my life that had a more significant influence on me than my father. My father has been the driving force behind my academic achievement. Everything I have
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When I think about what my hero means to me‚ I realize that most of my special memories and feelings toward my hero come from the little things he does everyday. My hero is not a celebrity or such a recognizable face. My hero is not a national hero or a multi-millionaire. He has never saved me from a burning castle or an avalanche‚ but he does hug me and tell me to have a good day. He doesn’t buy me expensive or fancy accessories‚ but he does whisper to me that I’m his special girl. He is just an
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Buried my daughter 1 year today‚ My lips have no words to say‚ so I let my ink bleed on my notes‚ the syrupy liquid encases‚ coats. Like my tears‚ dripping from my eyes‚ like when I fell in the shower‚ as she slipped through my thighs‚ miscarried my poor little girl‚ body rejected my womb’s pearl. I scrambled to my knees‚ afraid to touch‚ I was scared the tiny thing would shrivel to dust‚ her bloody face‚ her closed eyes‚ I wondered if they were the color of the sky. Buried her
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I Wish They’d Do it Right Jane Doe in‚ I Wish They’d Do it Right‚ opposes her sons idea of cohabitation. She believes that marriage offers many benefits for her son‚ her son’s partner‚ and the child. He refuses to take vow into a legal relationship and she begins to argue with her son’s idea when finally her son’s fiancé has a child. Jane Doe states that because of her son cohabitating‚ he has become economically disadvantaged‚ causes social awkwardness‚ and deprives the happiness of the extended
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Forever In My Memories Dear Dad‚ August 9‚ 2009 marks the tragic night that you left my life. I had just gone to bed‚ after a wonderful day full of birthday wishes. The last time I saw you alive‚ you had a drunken smile on your face and a Heineken bottle in your left hand. Half an hour after I had fallen asleep‚ mom shouted and banged on my door‚ awakening me from my slumber. Assuming that she was acting bizarre‚ I thought nothing of it‚ as I attempted to fall back asleep. Before I knew it‚ she
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inspired me My daily life is a routine. I go to school‚ work‚ and home. Every other weekend I’m at work. In between all of that‚ I’m a mother. This is my schedule most of the week. My routine can be stressful. But this particular day‚ I enjoyed. I enjoyed it because my daughter made me think of something different. I woke up‚ bug-eyed‚ to my alarm clock ringing and tinging‚ of course I don’t want to move. I was just awakened from an adventurous dream‚ by this man-made item. The coolness of my bed‚ softness
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A Prayer for My Daughter : William Butler Yeats - Summary and Critical Analysis | A Prayer for My Daughter by William Butler Yeats opens with an image of the new born child sleeping in a cradle. A storm is raging with great fury outside his residence. A great gloom is on Yeats mind and is consumed with anxiety as to how to protect his child from the tide of hard times ahead. The poet keeps walking and praying for the young child and as he does so he is in a state of reverie. He feels a kind
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After my third wish had been granted‚ my wife‚ Mrs. White has not been the same. Our home became more quiet than it already has been and more lonely than ever. At nights I wouldn’t be able to sleep with the crying my wife made‚ I made her believe I never heard her at night‚ I think it makes her feel better crying behind my back than on my shoulder. She became more quiet‚ never ate enough‚ and always got herself looking pictures of Herbert. On the day of our son’s birthday‚ I couldn’t think of anything
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This entry is dedicated to my dad and he will never read it. Sad thing.* When I was 16 I had to write an essay in school about the person I admire the most. So I wrote about my dad. My dad is not famous‚ nor is he rich or talented. He is not a scientist or a professor. But he is the best man in my personal world even if he doesn’t know. We never talk about emotional stuff‚ he never gives me good advice‚ actually we hardly talk. When my dad was young he was a biker. Motorbikes were his lifestyle
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