Descriptive Essay About My Grandmother

As a young child, at the age of 9, I have always been in the care of my grandmother because my parents worked from eight in the morning until around seven or eight at night, so after school my, grandmother and I would spend quality time together. It was only me and her most of the time because my older sister always had practice for some type of sport. My childhood was memorable due to my grandmother, so there wasn’t much I couldn’t be happy about. We usually got along very well, but everyone has bad days so it seemed pretty normal for us to “disagree” with each other. She was in fact my best friend, I could never hold a grudge against her after one of our arguments.
Although, my grandmother spent most of her time with the family, she had

When I would visit her, occasionally, she seemed a sickly skin tone, and the whites of her eyes were slowly receding. She was as still as concrete paved to the floor, but instead to her bed. It was so rare when I would visit her, and when I did she seemed to look worse every time, but when the holidays came around I noticed a little piece of her slipped away every year. I began to wonder, ”Who is this woman? Why is she in my home? Although, she looks oddly familiar. I think I know who she is.” Our relationship split, and grew at the same time. She lived with us for some time, but it slowly hit me that she wasn’t the same person anymore. I only wished I could be by her side constantly to ensure myself she was fine, but I had school. I thought to myself, “If only I made the time I spent with her more valued and

I couldn’t believe she left, I felt as if it were all a joke, and she was perfectly fine. “Why did this have to happen to me of all people? Why take away my grandmother,” I thought angrily to myself. Never again did I want to leave her side, but she left mine. The last time I saw her, she was in a cushioned box, looking quite pale, with no sign of life in her, and being so young I couldn’t grasp the concept that she was gone until some time. Days after I lugged myself around everywhere I went, emotionless, and feeling as if I would never know what happiness felt like again. It took time for my heart to heal, but I still had outbreaks of crying every now and then. My family only tried to help me, but what I needed was my best friend. But I lost her, I lost my best friend. I always feel as if I failed her, and would never be forgiven. As I grew older, I had to understand everything was fine, and that “she was in a better place.” I never believed it because the “better place” would be right next to me if it truly was “better”. I had to understand she was gone. Now in my heart, I think she has forgiven me, and that she’s watching over me. Now I am able to live without my best friend, and I have been doing so for many years