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TristonFergusonFirstEssay 3 - 25 May 2023 - Main.TristonFerguson
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< | I Hate Phone Calls From My Hometown | >
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> | "God makes no mistakes," my grandmother would fervently remind me whenever doubts about His actions clouded my mind. But on February 4, 2022, I couldn't help but believe that a mistake had been made. That day is etched in my memory with striking clarity. It was around noon when I was abruptly awakened by my dog's relentless whining, demanding to be let outside. Stirred from slumber, my then-girlfriend, Christin, rose from bed, dressed in pajamas, and went downstairs to attend to our furry companion, Niko. I dragged myself out of bed and made my way downstairs to the couch, intending to tackle some work. Upon Christin's return with Niko, she kissed my forehead and offered to prepare breakfast. Grinning in agreement, she headed to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Niko, our beloved English bulldog, took to drooling excessively on my computer, which irked me. I abandoned the couch and settled onto a bar stool positioned in front of our kitchen island. Christin neared the end of her breakfast preparations, setting our plates with care. After feeding Niko, she joined me, and together we savored our meal, discussing the day that lay ahead. | | | | |
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< | “God does not make mistakes.” My grandmother would repeat this message religiously when I began to doubt the actions of God. But I truly believe he made a mistake on February 4, 2022. I remember this day extremely well. The time was around 12PM. The only reason I woke up was because dog at the time whined extremely loud to wake me up to take him outside to use the restroom. My girlfriend at the time, Christin, woke up, put on some pajamas, and headed downstairs to take Niko outside to use the restroom. I eventually rolled out of bed and went downstairs to sit on the couch and complete some work. When Christin came back inside with Niko, she kissed me on the forehead and asked if I wanted her to make breakfast. I said yes, and with a big smile, she went to the kitchen and began cooking. Niko, who is an English bulldog, began excessively drooling on my computer I was not the biggest fan of this, so I moved from the couch to a bar stool that was directly in front of my kitchen Island. At this point, Christin was just about done with breakfast and began setting up our plates. After feeding Niko, she plated our food, and we began to eat and plan out our day. A few minutes later, I received a phone call from an unknown phone number. | >
> | In the midst of our conversation, an unfamiliar number flashed on my phone screen, accompanied by the area code 903—my hometown's primary area code, a place I hadn't visited in over a year. Mentally unprepared for an interruption, I silenced the call, as was my usual practice until after breakfast. Moments later, the same number resurfaced, and I silenced it once more, flipping my phone facedown to avoid further distractions. Midway through breakfast, I turned to Christin and contemplated answering the call the next time it rang. Her eyes lit up with anticipation, as though expecting good news. Perhaps it would be another piece of positive information, following my recent acceptance into Columbia Law School. | | | | |
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> | With my breakfast completed, I flipped my phone back over, only to discover over a dozen missed calls from the same persistent number that had persistently pursued my attention earlier. Christin's previously gleaming expression faded rapidly. She mustered a forced half-smile and encouraged me to answer the phone the next time it rang. Scarcely thirty seconds later, the buzzing resumed. "Triston, I'm sorry to intrude, but I'm worried. Have you spoken to your father?" the voice on the other end pleaded, laced with panic. Confusion gripped me, leaving me uncertain how to respond. I explained that I had spoken to him a couple of days prior, and all seemed well. The caller went on to describe my father's complaints of chest pains the previous night, his subsequent departure to purchase medication from the gas station or pharmacy, and his failure to return home. Reassuring her that everything was likely fine, I requested that she update me if any news arose. I dialed my father's number, only to be greeted by his voicemail. Feeling the urgency, I promptly informed my immediate family about the concerning circumstances surrounding my father. | | | | |
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< | There area code was 903 which was the primary area code from my hometown that I had not visited in over a year. I silenced the call because I was not mentally prepared to hear from anyone at that moment. I would usually silence all my phone calls until after I eat breakfast. A few minutes later, I received another phone call from the same exact number. I silenced the call and turned my phone face down so I no longer so the notifications. Halfway through my breakfast, I turned to Christin and asked if I should answer the call the next time the number called me. She quickly said yes with a look of excitement on her face. Maybe it was good news? A week prior I was accepted into Columbia law, so it was possible that I was due for more good news. | >
> | Five minutes later the phone rang again. "His car was found in a ditch, and he was rushed to the hospital... I don't know how long he was there before someone discovered him," the caller shrieked through the receiver. Instantly, my appetite vanished. Christin secured Niko in his kennel and guided me to the couch while I contacted my family to relay the unsettling situation. I urged my aunt, who lived closest to the hospital, to investigate further. Simultaneously, I reached out to my uncle, enlisting his aid in coordinating with my father's girlfriend for additional details. Those next ten minutes seemed interminable, filled with a profound sense of anguish as Christin and I anxiously perched on the couch, awaiting the next phone call. Little did I know that the forthcoming call would bring the final update about my father. This time, it was my uncle's voice on the other end, quivering with emotion. "Tris, he didn't make it, man," he sobbed uncontrollably.
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen," my grandmother would recite faithfully whenever my doubts about God emerged. I possessed unwavering faith, believing in the unseen and trusting God blindly. However, amidst the untimely demise of my father, I can't escape the belief that somehow, this is a mistake. | | | | |
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< | After I finished my breakfast, I turned my phone back over and saw that I had over 12 missed calls from the same exact phone number that had called me earlier. The excitement on Christin’s face quickly faded. She gave me a forced half smile and encouraged me to answer the phone the next time it rang. Roughly 30 seconds later, the buzzing began again. “Triston, I am so sorry to bother you, but I am worried. Have you spoken to your father?” His girlfriend said with a panic in her voice. I was extremely confused and unsure how to answer. I simply explained to her that I had spoken to him a couple days ago and everything seemed fine. She began to explain to me how my father complained about chest pains the night prior and had left to go to the gas station or pharmacy to grab some medication and he had not yet returned. I assured her that I thought everything was fine and to call me back if she received any update. I called my dad, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I then decided to call my immediate family and fill them in on the confusion surrounding my dad. | >
> | As I stand on the threshold of my first year of law school, a profound sense of trepidation envelops me. The absence of my father, my guiding light, leaves me paralyzed with fear. How will I navigate this daunting journey without his steady hand to lead the way? The mere thought of facing the challenges ahead without his wisdom and unwavering support fills me with a disorienting confusion.
My father's pride was not only my source of motivation; it was my purpose. Every achievement was an opportunity to make him proud. It fueled my determination, giving my endeavors meaning. But now, in the wake of his untimely departure, I find myself adrift, grappling with the haunting question: What is my purpose now? I am lost in a maze of uncertainty, my compass shattered.
the grieving process weighs heavily upon me. How does one navigate the seas of sorrow while embarking on the demanding voyage of law school? The waves of grief threaten to capsize me, engulfing me in their relentless turmoil. How can I mourn the loss of my father while simultaneously striving to excel academically and build a future he would have been proud of? The intersection of grief and ambition creates a dissonance within me, a discordant melody that echoes through the chambers of my heart. | | | | |
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< | Roughly 5 minutes later, she called me again. “His car was found in a ditch, and he was rushed to the hospital… I don’t know how long he was there before someone found him.” She screamed into the phone. At this point, I had lost my appetite. Christin put Niko in his kennel and sat me down on the couch as I called my family to let them know what was going on. I called my aunt, who was closest to the hospital, and encouraged her to go and figure out what was going on. I then called my uncle who was able to coordinate with my dad’s girlfriend to figure out additional details. The next 10 minutes were the hardest of my entire life. Christin and I sat on the couch waiting for the next phone call. Little did I know, the next phone call was the last update I received regarding my father. This time, it was my uncle on the other end phone. “Tris, he didn’t make it man.” He sobbed on the other end of the phone.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence for things not seen.” My grandmother would repeat this message religiously when I began to doubt God. I had all the faith in the world, believed in what I could not see, and trusted God blindly. However, I can’t help but feel that the untimely death of my father is somehow a mistake. I’m still waiting for that phone call. | >
> | In this tumultuous season of sorrow and confusion, I seek solace and strength. I long to honor my father's memory. But for now, I must navigate the uncharted territory of grief, learning to endure its weight while balancing the demands of law school. Though the path ahead appears shrouded in shadows, I will strive to find my way, drawing upon the fragments of memories I still possess. | | | -- By TristonFerguson - 16 Feb 2023 |
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TristonFergusonFirstEssay 1 - 16 Feb 2023 - Main.TristonFerguson
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God Does Not Make Mistakes?
I Hate Phone Calls From My Hometown
“God does not make mistakes.” My grandmother would repeat this message religiously when I began to doubt the actions of God. But I truly believe he made a mistake on February 4, 2022. I remember this day extremely well. The time was around 12PM. The only reason I woke up was because dog at the time whined extremely loud to wake me up to take him outside to use the restroom. My girlfriend at the time, Christin, woke up, put on some pajamas, and headed downstairs to take Niko outside to use the restroom. I eventually rolled out of bed and went downstairs to sit on the couch and complete some work. When Christin came back inside with Niko, she kissed me on the forehead and asked if I wanted her to make breakfast. I said yes, and with a big smile, she went to the kitchen and began cooking. Niko, who is an English bulldog, began excessively drooling on my computer I was not the biggest fan of this, so I moved from the couch to a bar stool that was directly in front of my kitchen Island. At this point, Christin was just about done with breakfast and began setting up our plates. After feeding Niko, she plated our food, and we began to eat and plan out our day. A few minutes later, I received a phone call from an unknown phone number.
There area code was 903 which was the primary area code from my hometown that I had not visited in over a year. I silenced the call because I was not mentally prepared to hear from anyone at that moment. I would usually silence all my phone calls until after I eat breakfast. A few minutes later, I received another phone call from the same exact number. I silenced the call and turned my phone face down so I no longer so the notifications. Halfway through my breakfast, I turned to Christin and asked if I should answer the call the next time the number called me. She quickly said yes with a look of excitement on her face. Maybe it was good news? A week prior I was accepted into Columbia law, so it was possible that I was due for more good news.
After I finished my breakfast, I turned my phone back over and saw that I had over 12 missed calls from the same exact phone number that had called me earlier. The excitement on Christin’s face quickly faded. She gave me a forced half smile and encouraged me to answer the phone the next time it rang. Roughly 30 seconds later, the buzzing began again. “Triston, I am so sorry to bother you, but I am worried. Have you spoken to your father?” His girlfriend said with a panic in her voice. I was extremely confused and unsure how to answer. I simply explained to her that I had spoken to him a couple days ago and everything seemed fine. She began to explain to me how my father complained about chest pains the night prior and had left to go to the gas station or pharmacy to grab some medication and he had not yet returned. I assured her that I thought everything was fine and to call me back if she received any update. I called my dad, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I then decided to call my immediate family and fill them in on the confusion surrounding my dad.
Roughly 5 minutes later, she called me again. “His car was found in a ditch, and he was rushed to the hospital… I don’t know how long he was there before someone found him.” She screamed into the phone. At this point, I had lost my appetite. Christin put Niko in his kennel and sat me down on the couch as I called my family to let them know what was going on. I called my aunt, who was closest to the hospital, and encouraged her to go and figure out what was going on. I then called my uncle who was able to coordinate with my dad’s girlfriend to figure out additional details. The next 10 minutes were the hardest of my entire life. Christin and I sat on the couch waiting for the next phone call. Little did I know, the next phone call was the last update I received regarding my father. This time, it was my uncle on the other end phone. “Tris, he didn’t make it man.” He sobbed on the other end of the phone.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence for things not seen.” My grandmother would repeat this message religiously when I began to doubt God. I had all the faith in the world, believed in what I could not see, and trusted God blindly. However, I can’t help but feel that the untimely death of my father is somehow a mistake. I’m still waiting for that phone call.
-- By TristonFerguson - 16 Feb 2023
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