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Narration Essay - With A Free Essay Review
It was May, 2006, the first time I ever wanted to run back home. I was nineteen years old and had waited my whole life to move out and be on my own. The summer prior, I moved in with my boyfriend of 5 years— Brandon. Life was great. We were living the life we had always planned. We went on vacation that September to the beach. With the sun shining, the sand between own toes, and the waves rushing to the shoreline, it felt as though they were all welcoming us to paradise. We fell in love all over again. It was the perfect romantic getaway. We returned home a few days later to reality.
The first week that we were back, I found out I was pregnant. My family was very supportive, as was Brandon’s. They helped us out in every way they could. They arranged the baby showers, made sure I made it to all my appointments, bought us all the appropriate books, and helped us make sure we had everything ready to go for the big day. That day came very quickly due to me developing pre eclampsia, a disorder that occurs during pregnancy that causes your blood pressure to be too high. My doctor called me on Friday, May 11, and told me that I needed to get to “Labor and Delivery” as soon as possible. Scared to death, Brandon and I put on our clothes and grabbed our bags. We got the car ready and headed to the hospital. Although I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life, I put a smile on my face. When we arrived, the nurses came out to the car and helped me get in the wheelchair, as if I were an old lady and incapable of doing it myself. This scared me even more. The reality began to sink in that there was something seriously wrong. I got to the room where I was told to strip down and put on this tiny, almost see through hospital gown they had given me. I was then instructed to get in the bed; the doctor would be in shortly. As I lay there feeling naked and terrified, the doctor came in to explain the way that everything would work. She had already spoken with me about the epidural, which seemed to be my choice of pain relief at the time. After she explained to me how the process of receiving it would work, it did not sound so good. After, they checked everything to make sure my vitals and the baby were all in sync, put the monitors on my belly, and hooked up my IV’s, epidural, and pitocin (medicine used to induce labor). After all the pricking, poking, and pain, everything started to calm down for a moment.
Our beautiful baby girl, Haylie, was born and our lives changed forever. We were the proudest mommy and daddy on the third floor of Gateway Hospital. All of my family brought me flowers for Mother’s Day and told us how proud they were. It made us feel really special and happy for our new little family. Little did I understand how truly grown-up I was now. We left the hospital on Mother’s Day and came home to our comfy little house. It felt so good to be home with my new little family. No more nurses coming in every four hours to interrupt conversations and running out our guests. It was quiet, yet cheerful, as if I had realized how much I had missed it.
It wasn’t long before the quietness ceased. Now I was listening to high pitch sounds of my baby girl screaming. I knew all the things that I needed to do to make her calm down, but it just seemed like everything I was trying to do was not helping our situation. The crying got worse and before long I found myself distraught. I was an emotional mess and could not get myself together. It was at that moment, I had realized exactly what my mother had been trying to tell me for so long. She used to tell me that one day I would understand how she felt and that I would come to her and tell her how she told me so. That is exactly what I did. I packed Haylie’s stuff up, got in the car, and went to my mom’s. With tears in my eyes, she met me at the door. Not saying a word, she wrapped her arms around me and told me how much she loved me and how everything was going to be fine. It was as if I were a little girl with a scraped knee; mommy was making it all better. She truly was my comfort and serenity that day. Looking back 6 years ago, I find that I instill the same values into my children as my mother did to me. I want them to understand that no matter how many times life may knock them down, I want them to get back up; and that if they need me, I am always here for them.
I don't usually review stories because I'm not very good at it, but when I do it is usually to address the problem of ensuring that when you write a narrative essay, it should have a point, and a logic to its organization at a level higher than that of mere chronology. On the one hand, your essay does have some elements of a well-organized story with a point to make, insofar as you begin with a reference to a time in the story to which you return at the stories end (i.e., the time you ran back home), and also conclude with a moral about good motherhood. The central paragraphs of the essay, however, are organized chronologically and don't contribute much more than background information to the story as a whole. Insofar as this is a story about learning what it is to be a mother (I take it that that is one way you might explain the purpose of the story), a story about learning that from your own mother, what is the relevance of the account of your ordeal in the hospital, for instance? That account is compelling, of course, and I don’t mean to suggest that it does not have such relevance, but only the relevance has not be clarified. The individual parts of your story are reasonably well told. But there's nothing in the central paragraphs that really anticipate the conclusion and its take-home message. It's not my place to tell you how to accomplish what I'm suggesting you ought to try to accomplish here, but perhaps I can clarify the issue a little by referring to what we might call the "turn" in the essay, the moment when you first articulate the point, as it were, of the story as a whole. It is this: "It was at that moment, I had realized exactly what my mother had been trying to tell me for so long." What I'm suggesting, then, is that it is this point in your story that the story as a whole ought to lead up to. There ought to be something in the central paragraphs that anticipates this point in your story. Your essay, for instance, might have been more obviously about your increasing sense, despite all obstacles, and despite the offered support of your family, of your growing up and beginning to feel as though you would be able to handle things. If the essay were more obviously about that, then the moment of your return to your mother would, I think, be more meaningful, and perhaps more poignant, and the essay as a whole would in my view be a more coherent, unified story.
Best wishes to you and your fortunate children, EJ.