Hi this essay is not really an essay

It was my eighth grade year; a year which for many is filled with memories of a trip to Washington D.C., or hanging out with friends every day after school. My eighth grade year brought different memories. I have memories of my mother being slowly taken away from me by a terminal illness, and memories of my father struggling to raise my sister and me while his wife was dying before his eyes.

I first learned of my mom’s illness when I was in the sixth grade. I was at an age when I could not really grasp the concept of losing one of my parents. It was a time of great transition in my life, the transition from a regular kid with two loving parents to a teenager who now had to help take care of his own mother. By the seventh grade I had realized the inevitable; my mom would soon die of C.J.D., an illness similar to Alzheimer’s, but much more rapid in the process of taking one’s life. I often talked with my dad about how things would be different when my mom died, ...