Describe a memory that defines part of your identity.
When I was in my mid-twenties, my father got sick. He and I lived together, but we were never close. In the last week of his life, he asked me for help. As his son, I felt I was required to give it. However, I was never happy about giving him that help. I think he knew I wasn’t happy about helping him. I also think he was trying to get close to me, but didn’t know how.
The last night I saw him, my step-mother woke me up. I didn’t want to wake up, as I had to work in two hours. She forced me awake and told me my father had passed away while at the hospital. Every time someone asks me for help now, I remember that. I think about how much he did for me. I think about how much I meant to him. I think about how self-involved I was at the time. I think about how much of his life I have, and will, miss. Without this memory, I would probably be selfish and unempathic to those who are in need. This morning haunts my life.