There are several vivid memories from my childhood that I can recall. Although they are clouded by the blissfully ignorant film of childhood, it is their veil that allows me to reflect on how I have developed into an adult. Looking back, my childhood seems like a movie or book, like it belongs to someone else. As I enter adulthood I realize that the trigger into my postlapsarian life was when I learned the difference between life and death. Thirteen years ago I visited my Aunt Pepper in the hospital during her final days. She was the mother of my godmother. Our relation was not through blood, but family does not end with blood. I remember the white walls of the hospital and the burning scent of disinfectant. Being so young, the doctors seemed like giants. She was bedridden from her illness, the extent of which I did not know. As I sat in my mother’s lap I stared at the fraying yarn of my aunt’s blanket. Looking at the tubes entering her body made me nervous. Even at such a young age, I knew that I must be painful for her. She couldn’t speak to us. Occasionally her eyes fluttered open and her gaze would pass over her family members in the room. Her hands would shake as she reached for her daughter and her husband could only watch with a stoic …show more content…
Her cold hands clasped my own and she tried to speak to me. Her oxygen mask was removed for a few seconds and a raspy string of Greek words came out. Although I couldn’t understand her, tears collected in my eyes. She began to cough violently. My fear rose and I wanted to help but I didn’t know how. I was taken away from her and out of the room. Days later my mother told me that she had passed away. It wasn’t until a few years later that I realized that death didn’t mean you wouldn’t see a person anymore. I saw her every time I heard someone speak in Greek, every time I played tag with my brothers, and every time I smelled a strong