Realizations of Loss Essay -- Personal Narrative

It is no hourlong the home I grew up in. The loss of my mother is evident without delay more than ever, cementing the realization of how one persons impact tramp be as much the foundation of a home as the concrete itself. It has been twain years since our lives changed forever. My dad is recently remarried and trying to kick the bucket forward after losing his wife of well-nigh thirty-eight years to goal brain cancer. Since my mothers death and my fathers incidental remarriage, our family house has lost its comfortable feel of home in its ordain now resides a reflective sadness, an impersonal emptiness, and a surreal urgency.The living(a) and dining rooms ar now tidy and impersonal. Gone is the beaten(prenominal) clutter of childrens books and teaching aides. The half-finished crosswords and other reading material ar no longer in their stacks next her chair in the living room. The chair isnt even there anymore. It had traveled with mammary gland to hospice care a fter a stroke left her unable to walk. some other major difference is the remodeling activity. Since my parents purchased this house when I was four, they had remodeling plans. somewhere along the way, everyday deportment and complacency had al slipway 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 place had taken over. He is currently working on the upstairs suppress bedchamber. My parents had always wanted to make one large master bedroom out of two adjacent bedrooms upstairs, but it always seemed to take a back seat to more urgent fixes or budgetary needs. The two extra bedrooms upstairs now stood as one, finally coming side by side(predicate) towards their fruition. The smell of fresh paint brings a sad nostalgia running with me. Why isn... ...as my family, my childhoodmy mother.As time passes, I know that I will have to accept that what once was will never be again. Maybe things would b e easier if my dad and his second wife moved to a different house, but that is not my decision to make. Change is part of life and while sometimes it is wonderful, other times it is a painful trip 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 matt-up through an unconditional love. That is what a home is home is a nonjudgmental, unexpendable 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 in spite of appearance its absence. I know I do now, in more ways than ever before.