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Personal essays… personal essays…

You know, the problem with sharing personal essays— is well, they’re personal.

Photo from: christianpost.com

I decided to share my essay with my fiancée. We’ve dated for a year now and we have gotten know each other extremely well! Or at least I thought so. 

As she read my personal essay all she kept repeating over and over was, “I thought I knew everything about you!” and “Why have you never told me about this?”

Suffice it to say it actually rattled us a bit. How much do we TRULY know about each other? Do we know each other as well as we thought we did? Are we ready to get married? Are we actually ready?

The personal essay is a form that is so unique and intimate that it provides a space for reflection that even fiancées don’t tend to bridge frequently. After contemplating all this, the only lame excuse I could give her was, “well, it never came up.” 

She gave some advice on the rhetorical side of my personal essay.
She explained that some symbolism was vague and I would be better off to state it more fluidly with the rest of the tone of my paper.
Another idea she had was to change the timing at which I interjected thoughts of the Book of Mormon within the events of the story.
 I love the advice she gave and I’ll be sure to implement them for the final draft of my essay. 

It Doesn't Matter Where We Are, As Long As Memories Are Made and the Family Is Strengthened.

Physical experience:
I remember lying on the hospital bed as they asked me to roll over. they shoved a needle in my back, and I remember looking back over my shoulder to see this long string of blue coming out.

I remember begging my parents to not force me to take my earrings out because that would hurt and I didn't want to go in the machine. I also remember telling my parents I didn't need to be put under. I wanted to stay awake, and I wouldn't move or say "ouch." I didn't want them to put the tubes in my ear.

Scenes:
Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It's a summer night, still hot, but we're on the beach at a carnival. The dancers are entertaining us with fire and music on the drums. The smell of the cooking Mexican food, the oriental salads. But most of all, my first taste of calamari, suction cup and all. It tasted like rubber.

When we go elk hunting, the cool crisp air combines with the heat of the sun. The smell is clean. It's relaxing and peaceful to be so high up into the woods. The scene is beautiful, all green and full of life. There are so many possibilities, so many new worlds to explore. I played house in the woods where we camped.

Speech:
Speaking Spanish in Mexico to the natives, trying to carry on a conversation. Then the others tell my mom and dad that they "did a good job." Scary. And they also told my parents good job on my friends looks. That's just gross and creepy.

The speech of my mom as she tells the family she has breast cancer. Then the speech, family fasting, family prayers, and blessing given to her the night before her surgery. How I told her that I wasn't scared, because Heavenly Father knows what He is doing.

Emotion in the moment:
So many emotions raced through me as I sat and watched my mom. Anger at the doctors, for doing this to her, and for not doing their job at giving her good medicine. Fear as I thought my mom was going to die. Panic. What would I do as a sophomore in High School losing my mom? This would change my whole life. What about the future times I would need her? What if she needed to lace up my prom dress? What about my wedding day when she is supposed to help me get ready? Helpless, because I couldn't take the pain away from my mom. Sad because I had to watch her constantly fight her body, to watch her roll over and cry in pain as the chemotherapy silently and slowly tried to kill everything in my mom's body.

People of consequence:

My cousins, aunts and uncles, siblings, and nieces and nephews while camping.

My mom and dad, and best friend Alli in Mexico.

The doctors and nurses.

The pharmacist.

The creepy guys in Mexico that tried to tell my parents good job on their "children"