A possible College essay but it sucks big time so I have no idea.

By , rochester, MA
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In reflection on the events that have impacted me, I returned from visiting my long distance friend from Florida to come home to a very sick younger brother. John Steven Fontain contracted Eastern Equine Encephalitis.
On the first day that John showed signs of being sick we thought he just had the flu. He laid in bed watching television while everyone else was enjoying the family reunion in the back yard. Escaping from the noise and drunkenness of the typical Irish shindig I went to the laundry room to sneak the cookies my aunt brought. John just lay in bed, looking at me. I gesture to him if he wants a brownie but he just lays his arm out to take it. That is the last memory I have of John with his eyes open.

The next morning I woke to an empty house. No note and no phone call. My mother and John had gone to the hospital, his fever was very high and he was unconscious. John was in the hospital for two long agonizing weeks, agonizing for my family and most of all for him. My mother stayed in the hospital all those days and I visited every other with my Aunt. My whole family came from all over the country to see him. Everyone coming to see him was wonderful, seeing him in his state was not too great.
John and I were home schooled, and with him being in the hospital my mother and I couldn’t do any schoolwork so my aunt took guardian ship of me and I began school at Old Rochester Regional High School. It was eighth grade; I knew no one and my thoughts were still on John. On my second day of school I came home to see my mother. John had died that day. Later that night me had a mass for him. Family, friends and all of John’s football teammates were there. I sat in the front pew with my mom and aunt listening to all the crying nine-year-old boys behind me. It was horrible. I don’t remember how I slept that night, I don’t remember If I did but I remember the days that followed very well.
His Funeral like all of the Englehart family members was held at the Ashley funeral home, my mother is good friends with Mr. Edgar. He is the mortician there I always tell him how much I love his name. Sometimes I think my family is cured because we have had to bury so many loved ones. My mother had me wear these gross camouflage army pants; we all did, my mother, aunt, cousins. John liked army wear; he probably would have joined when he got older. During his viewing I sat in this big old chair the Ashley’s have had forever. It’s a yellow musty color and I played with the tassels not making eye contact with anyone. I hate when people come over to you and ask how you are over and over again. It doesn’t make them seem sincere just unintelligent or rude for asking to many times, like they all have dementia or something.
I didn’t willingly go to my brothers open casket alone, I just sat in the chair. Its not that I didn’t want to look at him to be afraid of what I saw, I just didn’t want to besmirch my last image of him. My mom eventually made me go with her. I didn’t look at my brother at all. I would rather have my last memory of him in his bed watching television then in his final bed. My brother was a very happy person. He was hardly angry or sad and our relationship was like any other brother and sister, we were close though. I didn’t go back to school for a few days and then I didn’t go back for two weeks. I had gotten the hives or some other skin rash, the doctor wasn’t sure and I had to take an allergy test. It hurt. My mother said it was from my nerves. Brother who just passed away, moving in with my aunt, new school, it just kind of manifested into a pink itchy annoying rash. I was miserable already, with the rash I was ready to dissolve.





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