“The Tyger” is a poem about a beautifully terrible and fearful creature. The poem asks who created such a creature. Was it the same person that created the gentle lamb? What did they use to create such a dreadful animal? What hammer and what anvil was used to make such a deadly feline as the great tiger?
This poem spoke to me because the first time I read it I saw only its surface value. In my head I imagined a large Bengal tiger stalking through the jungle on silent paws, looking for its next victim. The second time I read it, however, I read it like a metaphor. The tiger wasn’t a tiger anymore this way, instead it was some type of dangerous darkness or evil. When I read it this way I was ...view middle of the document...
If there was anything that I could change now it would be that. I wish I’d put more time in where it really mattered. School and work were my future but Papa was my heart and I let myself forget that.
It was during one of those stays that Papa began having severe chest pain. We packed everything up and drove to the emergency room. Nana was crying, scared that he wouldn’t come back from the hospital this time. More tests were ordered and Papa just kept getting worse. The word cancer was introduced to me then.
Before his hospitalization, cancer had been some kind of myth to me. It was something that affected other people, other families. Cancer was something that I only heard about and it wasn’t something that had truly touched me. But this time it wasn’t some other family, some other person. This time it was a man I loved. This time it was the man I used to pretend to marry, the man I went to car shows with and watched crappy westerns with that I hated and he loved. This time it was my Papa.
The moment the cancer was confirmed things began to unravel. My Nana’s emotions went haywire and she became buried in her denial. My uncle became closed off and quiet. My mom became a rock though. She trembled under the weight of everything that was happening but she didn’t break. I thank God for that because if she had I would have too. Watching Papa get thinner and thinner, unable to stay in one position for too long because of the pain, I felt like I was dying inside even though I knew he was going through so much worse. There were times I’d get off school or work and I wouldn’t want to go to the hospital. I didn’t want to be there and see him like that… and I hated myself for thinking that way. He had been my world and now he was dying and my world was crumbling.
It was around eight o’clock, the night before a big political science test that we got a call saying we should come to the hospital. Papa wasn’t doing well and they didn’t think he would make it through the night. When we got there he was laboring so hard, just trying to get a good breath in. He had been so scared that...