Personal Story Finding the Value of Living Essay Example For Students

Personal Story Finding the Value of Living Essay I believe life has great value. We only live once, and death can come to anyone at anytime. Some people just let it happen, but others fight for their life and never give up. I have a person in my life that has encountered this battle, along with myself. In late June of this past year, 2014, I experienced a traumatic experience. My mother was driving my cousin, my friend, my sisters, and I to my dad’s house. My youngest sister, my friend, and I, were sitting in the backseat and my eldest sister was in the passenger seat. Laughter and chatter filled the car, when all of a sudden, the world went dark and I went into shock. We will write a custom essay on Personal Story Finding the Value of Living specifically for you for only $16.38 $13.9/page Order now I opened my eyes moments later only to see my mother with a bloody nose crying helplessly for help. I looked to my left, where my cousin was, she was screaming out in pain and calling for her mother, saying â€Å"I want my mom! † I then looked to my right, and saw my friend crying, and breathing harshly and saying, Aunty, wake up! Open your eyes! † In the moment, I felt helpless and tried not to cry because I had to keep my cousin and my brother, who are both two years younger than me, calm. My eldest sister, surprisingly was fine. She asked me if I was alright, and I responded by telling her that my head hurts. My sister suddenly looked at the left side of my face, and said, â€Å"Motaharah touch the left side of your face. † I was curious as to why he would tell me to do that so I did it, only to find that I was bleeding from a head wound. I was not in pain, my head was just numb. I ripped my shirt and used that small piece of cloth to keep pressure on my head to prevent bleeding. A few minutes later, my eldest sister demanded for all of us to get out of the car. My friend in the front, and the rest of us behind her, stepped out and walked to the other side of the car. I may be out of the car, but a piece of me was still stuck inside. My mother was unable to move because the door caved in, therefore she was trapped inside. I couldnt control my tears anymore; I just couldn’t see my mom in pain for another second. I spotted a gas station nearby where I ran quickly, tears rushing down my cheeks, seeking for help. There was a middle aged man walking in circles, on his mobile device, seemingly dialing 911. I waited until I saw him hang up, and then approached him. I asked him politely, â€Å"Can you please dial my dad’s number? † He replied, â€Å"Of course, honey, number? † I gave him the number and he dialed quickly. I heard my dad’s gentle voice answer the phone, â€Å"Hello? † â€Å"Yes, hi I am Ahmad, and I am standing here at the crossing of 8th street and Cypress with your daughter, her mother and siblings have just encountered a terrible vehicle accident† said the man. I heard my dads response which was, â€Å"I am on my way. † A policeman waved to us from afar and indicated to get in his car just to be safe. As my sister, my friend, my cousin, and I were getting ready to sit in the police car, we saw my dad rushing toward my mom’s vehicle and looking around, clearly looking out to find where we were. Since I could not open the doors of the police car from the inside, I knocked on the window, trying to get my eldest sister’s attention who was standing outside, to get her to open the door. I ran outside; I ran into my father’s arms. At this moment, firefighters surrounded my mom’s vehicle and got the door to open. Moments later I saw my mom being carried out on a stretcher. I just stood there, watching the ambulance rush her into emergency. My heart was beating fast and I could not stop crying, until I noticed my baby sister standing besides me. I looked over at her, and she was having problems breathing properly. .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .postImageUrl , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:hover , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:visited , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:active { border:0!important; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:active , .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9 .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u16f0f203ebcc0ea707a9b9161915e4f9:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: This Paper EssayShe was in terrible condition, so I immediately alerted a medical corpsman. Suddenly, a medic walked up to me, and started to clean my face with alcohol wipes. He then placed several band aids on the wound on the side of my face. There were cuts all over my face, but they were not painful. As the medic cleared everything up, she told me to gather my siblings and follow her. After being seated in the ambulance, one of the medical corpsman put my little sister on a breathing machine, which essentially, was helping her breathe properly and to gain oxygen into her lungs. My friend, my cousin, my brother, and I were sitting in the back on a narrow horizontal seat, that was projecting from a wall. My father was in the front with the individual driving the vehicle. One we were free to get out, I requested the nurse if we were allowed to see my mother and she said yes. We went into my mother’s room and really just paused for a while. You can just tell she was in so much pain just by looking at her. Although she was hurting and not in the best condition, she made small talk with us and told us that she cracked her hip bones, and broke a few ribs. This was the day I realized that you don’t know how much you appreciate and love someone, until they are in a battle fighting for their life just so they can live to see you grow each day. My mother is my rock. She has fought for her life to stay in mine and my siblings’. My mother works hours just so she can provide my siblings and I with whatever we want. I look up to her and appreciate my mom for everything, and I want her to stay in my life for a very long time. Death, can take you away in a second. Some people just let it happen, but others fight for their life and never give up, just like my mom did.