The Movement of Grief by Xiomara

The Movement of Grief by Xiomara - October 2023 Scholarship Essay

It was a rainy day in Georgia when I returned from Grandpa's funeral. The gray clouds hung low in the sky, matching the somber mood that encompassed me. All of my classmates were running around with glee and showing off their Halloween candy from last week as though they were jewels, yet all I could feel in that moment was a heavy emptiness in my heart and a lump in my throat as I listened to the pitter-patter of the rain. In a time that was filled with post-holiday happiness and candy trading, I was stuck inside my own head, drowning in a sea of thoughts that had unknowingly wrapped me in the web of grief.

Truth be told, I hadn’t any understanding of grief or its impact at that time. I didn’t understand how to truly say goodbye or the impact of never saying it to someone who was a constant in my life. I could no longer argue with my grandpa, steal his favorite snacks from the pantry, or sit on the porch eating roasted peanuts with him. I hadn't shed a single tear until the funeral. As the pastor's warm voice rang loudly through the church, memories of Grandpa flooded my mind, and as the realization that I’d never see him again dawned on me, I cried.

I cried as a baby would for the air that it needs, yet in my case, I was crying for the past that I hoped to never forget. Memories that I knew would soon be left barren and a couch in Grandma’s home that I would never want to sit in again, for the memories were so deep; I felt I was drowning. The memories of Grandpa flooded my mind, and the realization that I would never see him again weighed heavily on me. As the teardrops fell down my face, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss and longing for his presence.

It was then that my teacher, Ms. Auburn, pulled me outside of the classroom, and we had a meaningful conversation that was full of my crying and her consoling me. We spoke about the death of my grandpa as well as how I’d been. After our conversation, she gave me a hug and told me about the new book she’d be introducing us to next week. The book was titled “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and it forever changed the way that I viewed death. It was a tale about a little boy named Billy Colman, who lived in the Ozarks during the Great Depression.

In the book, Billy journeyed with his dogs, Old Dan and Little Ann. It unfolded as a poignant tale of friendship, love, and the impact of loyalty. This book enamored my entire class and constantly left us waiting for more. In this book, the trio faced numerous challenges and triumphs. As the story reached its climax with the deaths of Billy’s beloved dogs, it left a long-lasting impression on me. Reading about Billy's experiences and the bond he shared with his dogs helped me reflect on my own journey of grief and loss.

The book became a bridge between my personal emotions and the fictional world of Billy Colman. It allowed me to navigate the complexities of saying goodbye, the pain of loss, and the enduring memories that shape our understanding of those we've loved and lost. "Where the Red Fern Grows" provided solace and a unique perspective on the universal theme of coping with death. In the pages of that novel, I found a companion in grief, and it played a crucial role in shaping my comprehension of the often challenging aspects of saying farewell to those we hold dear.