Hi there! This is an essay I did for my English class that I'm really proud of. It's avery personal story and everything in this is true. Please feel free to comment and let me know if you like it. -Mel
As a seven-year-old, you don’t expect bad things happen to you. When you’re a seven-year-old, you fight with the other kids over toys, or scream for your brother not to sit on you. Well, maybe that’s just me. But never in my seven years of life would I expect to find what I found when I came home from vacation the summer before second grade; that day changed everything.
My family has always been complicated. You see, my parents never got divorced, because they never got married. I have three brothers and one sister. All of them are half siblings; they either have a different mom or dad than me. That has never really mattered to me. My dad left four months after my birth. Of course I did the whole “Weekends With Dad” thing. I was fine with that.
The years leading up to the summer after I turned seven, I began to notice that Sam, the youngest of my brothers, began to make some not-so-good choices. Sam and Dusty, my oldest brother, had some really good friends that became pretty much family; brothers. But there was one friend that I never liked.
This guy, he got Sam into bad things: smoking, drugs, and theft. None of which he did before he made this lovely friend. Even as a seven-year-old, I had an immediate dislike for this kid. He got my brother arrested alongside him. That’s when things went downhill.
My mom woke me up in the middle of the night, pulling me out of bed in my pajamas, wrapped in my blanket, and hugging my beloved stuffed rabbit. She pulled me down the stairs and over to my grandpa’s house. ( He and my aunt lived on the same property as us.) Confused and scared, I crawled into bed my grandpa, asking question that I would learn the answers to in the morning.
“Sam’s gotten arrested,” were the words from my mom’s mouth to our ears.
Being young, I thought that when you go to jail, you have to wear those black and white striped jumpsuits, not like the now orange ones. Cartoons can be misleading.
“It’s not a joke,” my mom snapped at me. I flinched at her sharp tone, hurt.
My family kept me completely in the throughout the whole thing. My mom baled my brother out of jail, and he went to this program to help him. Through this program, he met some friends who our family is still in contact with.
My brother began to clean up his act. I was so happy to have my brother back. Out of all my siblings, I was closest to Sam. He was my rock, and I knew that he would do anything do me.
Along with his fresh start, he began to play guitar, and get a girlfriend.
At first, I liked her. She made Sam happy. That’s all that mattered to me. She gave us a puppy her family’s dog had given birth to. We still have Tubby.
Things went downhill, once again. I don’t know many of the details, but I do know that a fight occurred. Sam got a bloody nose, and my aunt yelled for this girl to leave our property. Sam became unhappy with her and our family.
But they got back together. As you could guess, my family did not approve. I really didn’t understand the relationship at all. The relationship fell apart again, this time, because she began to get him involved in bad things.
All the bad things he became involved in didn’t matter to me; I just wanted my brother back. He wasn’t the same. He became more depressed and violent than before. I knew that he would never hurt me, but there were times when he scared me.
The more trouble he would cause, my family discovered that he had bipolar disorder, a disorder that my mom also had.
“Bipolar disorder is a condition in which people go back and forth between periods of a very good or irritable mood and depression.”
To hope he would get better, he began to take medication to help.
My aunt, mom, and I drove to visit my grandma. The drive was a total of eight hours from Owasso, to her home in Morehouse, Missouri.
I didn’t like that she lived so far away. We didn’t get to see her but once a year.
I slept most of the way home, unaware to what awaited us at home.
We arrived home in the afternoon. My mom went to go put our stuff away, and I went with my aunt to her house. We’d only been in the house for a few minutes, changed into comfortable clothes, when my mom ran into the house.
I’d never in my life seen my mom run so fast, or look so scared. She whispered in my aunt’s ear so I wouldn’t hear. Startled, my aunt pushed past my mom and went over to my house, my mom in tow.
Next thing I know, mom and my aunt are back inside, tears streaming down their faces. With shaky hands, and a puffy face, my mom picks up the phone and dials those three numbers you hope you never have to call.
9-1-1.
“I think my son is dead.” She cried into the phone.
As she spoke those words, my whole world was blurry. I didn’t know what to do, or what to think.
I barely remember the ambulance coming before my mom sent me to my cousin’s so I wouldn’t be in the way.
That point in my life is all one big blur. I guess that’s my sub conscience protecting me from a traumatic time in my life.
But I do remember being at Sam’s funeral, sitting emotionless. My cousin Grayson, a year younger than me, sat loyally beside me. He never left my side that day, gripping my hand. He’s still like a brother to me.
I also remember a few of Sam’s close, real friends singing at the service.
Life has a lot of ups and downs, good things and bad things. Don’t dwell on the bad, or complain about how unfair life has been.
My brother had an illness that affected his way of thinking. It made him think that he needed to go.
Normal people would ask God why this had to happen, why did he have to leave me, or why did you take him away from me?
I simply understood that my brother left us, and he’s not coming back. Later on I learned what really happened. It didn’t change my beliefs or thoughts of my brother.
He will always be my brother. I know he loved me and I love him.
Although my brother is gone, he will always be with me. Throughout life and everything I do, I believe that there is someone watching over me.
