Im struggling with my essay and I could really use some input. Feel free to tell me if I could word something better, point out any grammar or spelling issues or tell me that i should just trash it and start over if thats how you really feel. I’d rather have my feelings hurt than think Im turning in a decent essay that will make admissions throw up in their mouth. I don’t really have any teachers that could look over it for me at the moment and my parents aren’t much help either I’m afraid. My main concern is if it’s even any good to begin with or if I should find a different topic and start over. Reading it now, Im afraid colleges might think it’s silly. Any input is appreciated. Thank you. 
Essay:
It was a saturday, I was a five year old who could not have been any happier to be out of school and out enjoying the color of the autumn leaves and the crunching sound they made with every step I took. My mother had finally taken time off from studying so we could go on post to look at the airplanes. Being five, an open field filled with enormous airplanes and helicopters was the most amazing thing I had experienced in all my short life. I would constantly beg my mother to lift me up on her shoulders in hope that I might catch a glimpse inside several of the shorter aircrafts. After about an hour or so we got in the van and headed towards gate one on our way home.
I thought nothing of it when my mother’s phone started ringing until she slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. We were pulled over by the thin trees that had been placed to honor those who ad died in a plane crash. They could not have been more than an inch in circumference, with a small American flag place in front of each one. At first, I was hardly listening to what she said. I stared blankly out the window and imagined what it must have been like being on a plane , hurdling towards the earth. It was not until she began to cry that I took interest in what my mother was saying. She was worriedly talking about my father, wondering what they knew and asking if he would be ok. Automatically, I assumed the worst. I caught bits and pieces about an explosion and trying to revive someone and in my mind there were no other answers.
I should have cried and screamed, reacted in the way that any five year old would. instead I had only one though passing though my mind. At least I had his eyes. I did not know why, but that was all I could manage to think of. I kept it in my mind with out bothering to go much deeper into thought, even when my mother told me with tears in her eyes that they had found him and that he at least had a chance. In the days and weeks that followed, I wondered what would happen if he never came home and again I returned to that one thought. If he did not come back, and if I never saw him again, at least I had his eyes. I could look in the mirror and see a small part of my father, and know that I proudly carried his best feature on my small face.
It was at that moment that I realized how important my features were. They gave me a small par of my father to hold on to in one of my darkest moments and helped me see that even if he was gone forever, that he would always be with me.