Advanced Essay #1: Just My Memories

In this essay my goals were to put in words the relationship I have with my mom. I think I did well in putting my memories down and reflecting on each of them. I would like to improve the way I express myself.

The flowers that had no scent, and yet they amused me every morning. Their petals were not perfect, all different sizes and most covered with holes from bug bites. They were taller then me, then up to my waist, and that was a way I remember growing taller. To other people they weren't really pretty, but to me they were special. Every day I would look at them when I came to visit my grandparents. Every time I played in the yard, I would glance at the flowers every once in awhile. There was no special reason, it was more like they were magnets to my eyes. One day when I came the flowers were all gone. When I asked my grandma about them she said: “Oh those, I had no time to take care of them so they all died. Plus it’s not like anyone liked them anyway. ” And it was true, not even I could say that I particularly liked them. They were there and I was comfortable with that. They blocked the sunlight from getting in my eyes when I sat on the front steps. They made fun looking shadows in the moonlight.

I looked at the dirt that was piled where they used to be, and accepted them as a good childhood memory. It’s funny how we remember small things like that, but will never be able to remember all the important things. Not because we don’t want to, but our minds play tricks with our memory. I remember my first day of school, but not my last day of kindergarten. I remember the first time I went to a dance class, but not my first competition. But not all the things I remember from that time were good.

It was the night before Christmas and my mom was making a special dinner. I was in my room, I was 9 at the time, on the phone with a family friend. Then, out of nowhere I heard a loud bang sound. I tell the friend that I have to go and run out of my room. I walk through the living room and see a giant burn on the open door of the kitchen. When I walked in I say my mum on the floor crying with completely burnt hands. They were completely black and to relieve her of the pain she put them in a pot of cold milk, as told to by my grandma over the phone. They then went to the hospital and left me at the house to eat. I couldn’t sleep later, my mom’s pained expression circling my mind. My mom had to get most of the skin that got burned removed and wore a cast for a few months.

It hurt me seeing my mom's pain through my childhood, but that night, I matured a little more then I realized at the time. I realized that I began to feel her pain. The look she gave me, trying to assure me that she will be fine, I could see through that act. Her eyes, as blue as the sky, my favorite color, the color I always wanted mine to be. I think we had those moments because I was her only child at the time, these looks were passed back and forth before. She got surgery on her left ear when I was 7, hit by  a motorcycle when I was ten and 5 miscarriages through a few years. These made me even more mature for my age. That is probably the reason I took care of her and she took care of me. We always told each other everything, so we understood each other better than anyone else.   

I remember that when I found out I had dyslexia and dysgraphia, she was one of the only people who didn’t judge me, even tough learning disabilities are very rare in Serbia, and most times looked down on. When I was little I had bad asthma, for almost 2 years I was constantly sick. I would go to the doctors and lay in bed most of the time. She worked every weekday, from morning to night and still found time to take care of me. I even remember her buying me little presents, to help me stop my bad habits of biting my nails. Every week I went without biting them, I would get a cute bag with a present inside.