My First Childhood Memory Essay

My First Childhood Memory Essay

                                              By: Ari Neville, Block: D, English 10

Time momentarily stopped, as I was in a zombie like trance, and the intense sun rays danced exuberantly on the beige wall, almost beckoning me to fall back into peaceful slumber. Mixing together in the crisp winter air, the scents of golden fluffy pancakes, and crispy bacon, wafted into my nose, forcing me to shuffle tiredly toward the dining room, while hopes of maple syrup and orange juice, kept me going. Forcefully I plummeted into a chair, quickly noticing how our table looked like a renaissance painting, with the warm sunlight bathing the table, our breakfast glimmering in a heavenly fashion, the sky a glorious blue, I almost forgot the bear like growls that were being emitted from my stomach. Zealously I piled ample amounts of food on my plate, knowing I would have to ready myself for wood collection, for energy disappears fast for a person with an empty stomach. With a ferocious hunger I devoured my breakfast within a matter of seconds. My body so full afterwards I could barely move. Leftover food scrapes taunted me for my stomachs weakness. Little did I realize, as I sat their feeling like a beached whale, that my young world would be changed forever. Never did once did I think to ask how my relatives were in Calgary, as I sat there blissfully unaware of their impending doom. As I sat there, a child to absorbed in the mundane facts of his naïve existence, to even pounder that something horrible had happened as he ate his breakfast. To lose someone who is so imbedded in your life, it feels as if someone ripped apart your heart and soul and put it into a blender, no other pain is describable.

Loud, abrasive, staccato bursts of noise pierced our ears, as we rested in our dinner table seats from our meal, the sound reminding us that we had a busy day ahead of us, and that time is of the essence. My mother frantically dashed from the table, leaping for the phone, signaling it was time to depart from the table, and get on with the day. Halfway between the table and our rooms, we stopped abruptly; uncharacteristic cries were being heard from our mother, instantly alerting the rest of the family that something was amiss. Silently, my brother and I slowly walked toward are upset mother, our breaths turning heavy with fear, and our eyes glancing around awkwardly to keep them from seeing our distraught mother. Anxiously we waited till our mother was off the phone, and asked in shrill voices what the matter was, and she replied “Uncle Mark passed away in his sleep.” Images of a pasty white man, who looked like a living skeleton, his body ridden with deadly skin cancer, his eyes fluttering briefly, then death, appeared in my mind’s eye. Instantly after the news was told, numbness soothed me, my body knowing that if my Uncle’s death settled in, I wouldn’t be able to function. Dizziness overwhelmed me as I shuffled to my room, the single phrase “Uncle Mark is dead”, ringing clear inside me. Not a single tear was shed as I walked toward my bedroom, still in too much shock to realize that someone I loved so much would never be there again. Inside my room, my head buried in a pillow, memories of my uncle passed through my brain. World class breakfasts that my uncle so proudly made, the sound of his sizzling frying pan, bringing me back to his Calgary home. Thoughts of sleeping in Uncle Mark’s basement, the fireplace enveloping me in comforting heat, a vintage sleeping bag entrapping me in warm embrace, and how those nights were so pleasant. After contemplating these thoughts, I snapped back into reality, got out of bed, and went out into the yard to collect leaves.   

Months later, sitting on a pew, in a Christian church, nestled between my Grandfather, and my mom and dad, attending my Uncles funeral, did I finally stop being numb. A kindly preacher simply uttered the word “health”, and tears streamed down my face, my Grandfathers hand comforting me in my time of weakness. Ever since I’ve stopped being numb, I find it hard to even think of my Uncle, my grief still so fresh, almost as if it was yesterday. How is it possible, that one man could impact a small child’s world so much, that even as a teenager, his very name saddens him with grief? My childhood is one filled with joyful times spent with friends, and luxurious trip’s to visit relatives in southern Alberta, but the first childhood memory I can think of, is one of death, one of sadness. My Uncles death was a sad occasion, but it showed me that life is a delicate plant, a plant that has to be showered, and never taken for granted, and a flower that can produce beautiful fruits, and bring you happiness.