Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

A Hole in My Apple

Her scream cut through me like a sharp knife cutting through my stomach making a hole that is growing instantly, and leaving traces of unbearable pain like no other I’ve experienced before, I didn't know how to react immediately so I just stood up and walked hesitantly to her room, I peaked first cowardly hoping it wasn't what I thought it was. Since I had been expecting this moment for a long time, I had a scenario in my head of how I would react.

My scenario for this moment included scary scenes and me not wanting to look at my grandma's lifeless body lying there, not to mention screams and cries, people wearing black and weeping for hours, mom having panic attacks and weeping her heart out. Everything was exactly like I expected, except that when I first looked at my grandma, a weird feeling of peacefulness ran through me. Her skin was so fragile almost like glass, she was so peaceful and quiet, her face pale yet clear and tranquil, a smile lit up her face or so I imagined, and she seemed happy where she was now. Somehow I felt happy for her because it had been months since I last saw her smile.


Suddenly it hit me and I was instantly brought back to reality: hearing my mom's weeps now, the sound of her cries was full of pain, sorrow, regret and helplessness. At this moment I felt the urge to hug her and let her know I’m there for her; instead I just stood there watching her leaning over her mother's body, her brothers leaning down just like her, they seemed so helpless and that scene continued to trouble me for weeks to come but only in my dream I was the one leaning on the body and it was my mom lying there.

The house was immediately full of people, each assigned something to do. I finally hugged my mom and took her hand to get her dressed in black, my mind wasn't responding yet, and I just did what I had to do. The following couple of hours passed like trees do when you're driving fast; unclear, hasty and totally chaotic. The stress of the burial was so severe that my mom passed out a couple of times, during which I was too occupied with her to notice the massiveness of the situation. Women were not allowed to enter while she was being buried but my brothers were brave enough to help in the process themselves.

The days that followed were all the same, every day I woke up to find myself heading to check on my grandmother, and half way through reality hits hard. I feel my heart pounding and the blood thudding in my ears, almost like a volcano waiting to erupt. The clouds surrounding my mind start to move away only to reveal a truth that is as lethal as venom. I will no longer see her face or hear her prayers for me; I start sensing the hole gapping up and the edges bleeding like never before. Every once in a while during the three-day funeral I felt the urge to cry , I covet loneliness, and getting away from all the howling voices of soothing and regret, prayers and wishes, and the piercing sound of her name repeated over and over again like lightening each time shaking me to the core. I would go in my room and lock the door behind me. once I sit on the bed the hole starts aching even more, this time it feels like my torso would tear up and break into pieces, I curl in the bed hugging myself to prevent the tearing and I start crying and weeping for as long as I can go unnoticed, it's the urge I have been fighting all day, it was no scene for my mother to see, that would make her feel even worse. Once the crying ends I start imagining myself in my mother's shoes and that's when I lose my fight against the budding tears and the hysteric crying starts once again.

Four days after her death, I woke up, this time knowing I wouldn't find her in her bed, this time I remembered that she had passed away. I instantly realized that a change had occurred, I was altered, the feeling was both utterly weird and fine in a sad sort of way, yes good and sad, it was just fine to feel new but sad to have to go through this in order to know that I needed maturity, reformation, almost like an extreme personality makeover. The kind of relationship my mother had with her mom made me realize I wanted the same thing with my mom. Not to mention that now I know how much I love her and now I know I can never survive without her care and unconditional love. I hope that everyone starts reconsidering their relationships with their parent’s before it’s too late.

Apparently you can envision how tough it was for me to have to go through this. I always felt like my life was an apple on the tree, if someday a bird came and took a bite of it, there would be a hole in my apple, and I would be altered forever and incapable of becoming a whole apple again. Later I knew that time passes and wounds recover, sometimes they leave marks for me to remember whenever I feel incapable of going on. Now I know that my life is rather a tree that cultivates apples, when an apple rotten and falls to the soil, I can easily grow another one and start fresh and new.





Join the Discussion

This article has 1 comment. Post your own now!

Fayrouz This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Dec. 29, 2009 at 4:25 pm
Good job describing the pain an Egyptian family goes through during death! I'm Egyptian too and this is so true and it has happened to me. If English isn't your first language, then I have to applaud you on your voice and style (in addition, the words and grammar). I don't know what your teacher graded you upon so I can't tell you for sure what grade you deserve, but for how I am graded in school (I'm a sophomore in high school), this is definitely above C (average). GOO... (more »)
 
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback