by Seldenia Harris

Created on: November 16, 2010

When a loved one dies it can be a very traumatic experience. I’ve spent most of my life attending funerals and saying goodbye to the one’s I loved. When I was twenty-two my mother died of colon cancer. I will never forget the day she died. It was a warm summers day in June and I was getting ready for work. The phone rang and a panicked voice told me to get to the nursing home as soon as possible because my mother was dying. I drove as fast as I could to get there before she died. I walked into the room and my mother took her last breath. I stood there in silence as I tried to fathom what had just happened. I drove home in shock not knowing what to do next.

After my mother’s death, I spiraled out of control. I began drinking and partying at all hours of the night. This went on for about a year when I finally realized what I was doing to myself. I got it together and moved on with my life.

My life was uneventful for awhile until I was thirty years old. My dad called to let me know that my baby sister had been in a house fire. I was told that her burns were severe. Over fifty percent of her body was burned in the fire. The good news was that she was stable and the doctors were going to begin skin graphs. About a week later, my dad called the college I was attending to let me know my sister had passed away. I broke down into tears and almost passed out. The secretary at the front desk asked me what was wrong. I told her what had happened and her face lost all it’s color. She advised me to sit down for a minute to get myself together. My tears were uncontrollable and I was beginning to cause a scene. I decided to drive home. The hardest part was yet to come. I had to break the news to my young children.

When my sister died, I was devastated. I’m not sure I have ever gotten through the grieving process. For the longest time, I would hear a phone ring and expect to hear her voice on the other end. I’m glad to say that I did not turn to drinking to get over her death. Instead I chose to eat and eat and eat. I probably gained forty pounds within six months. It was easier to eat than to deal with her death. I still harbor many feelings bout my sister’s death. Guilt has become my constant companion. You see, I chose not to see my sister when she was in the hospital after the fire. I was a coward and decided to run. I just could not deal with seeing her in that condition. I figured when she got a little better I would go to see

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