Death is Job

Throughout my life, mind you that I am fifteen, there had been four deaths that had taken place. Each death proving to be of great significance in my life. And, although, the lives that have been taken from me had given me great sorrow at the time, one particular death of a family member would change what I would proceed to do with my life.

It was the summer of going into eighth grade, and I had spent most of my time at the place of my second cousin, who in general was a replacement for my grandmother. This reason being that she was an elderly woman at age of seventy-four. This aged woman was the certainly the utmost perfect example of a grandmother, in fact she encouraged me to dub her so plenty of times even though I was not her grandchild. But, during that time where the sun was of broiling heat, I was struggling on what to do with my life because I figured that I should begin to be aware of what I would like to do career wise. I seeked the help of my grandmother 2.0, and her answer of course was, “Become an Optometrist like me,” though,  I was not very keen on that advice because it was not what I wanted to become, for I was stuck between two career paths that utterly differ.

The situation itself was distasteful to my soul. There was the option of choosing to take the career path of an Artist, and there was the career path of a pediatric surgeon. Both requiring passion, but one requiring to save the life of another human being who can possibly diminish at your hands without the right care.

Of course, I expressed my problem to my family members, especially the grandmother in which I spent most of my time with that summer, and all but she and my own mother were the only individuals that  gave significant advice. My grandmother stressed on the fact that I should not subject myself into a career path in which I would regret later. She said “Seeing as you have two career paths you are passionate in, await the moment where you know- have the more inspiration in one than the other? No doubt she was right, but I would not come to the realization of what that meant until after her death.

          “I am going to head upstairs call my name if you need me for anything,” I said.

She replied with, “Thanks doll.”

It was whole two hours after I went upstairs, so I came to ensure everything was going fine, but unfortunately it was the opposite. She was laying in bed calling my name, saying that she could not move her left side of her body which included her arm and legs.  Of course, I immediately called 911, speaking with a sort of hoarse voice, then proceeded to call my mother afterwards. Fortunately my mother was at the grocery store, which meant she would be able to get there quickly. Mom was able to get to where I was around three minutes after the ambulance had arrived. While being brought up into the paramedic bed she saw me trying she said a few words to me. She accepted her own fate, while I was at the side trying to deny it, but denying it did no justice.

Every individual takes control of such situations differently while, at times, simultaneously gaining a sense of unusual wisdom from it.  I was struggling to grasp the fact that an individual who I  greatly appreciated was gone. After the incident had occurred I was filled with grief, but I feel as, since I have had to deal with multiple other deaths prior to this event, I was able to not let such an incident get in my way. Although I had a tough time accepting the fact that she was no longer alive, it was also helpful that I was in summer, which meant I was able to process my sadness without other individuals other than family members. That was the time I figured that I feel more happiness when I have an amount of time to think to myself and rationalize.

            Summer of that year proved to be good, while being bad, with multiple mixtures of  emotions in which intensified at different moments. After she got into that paramedic car, I was able to visit her a couple days before her death; she was paralyzed through half her body and her heart failed after those couple visits.  Then, I came to the realization of why I wanted to be a surgeon. Generally I am hoping, that surgeons join the medical field in hopes of saving lives, to be able to spare the grief in which one feels, because, at times, even for artists, the greatest inspiration for insight is that of sorrow and grief.