Personal Narrative Essay

It was early September, and my grandma, Buzzy, had just died of cancer. I wasn’t really old enough to understand, but it was the first time in my life I had seen my dad cry. My parents had gone out to Chicago to see her, but everyone knew there was no other outcome. It was accepted she wasn’t going to get better. Thankfully, she passed away in her sleep, with her sons at her side.
A few weeks later, we flew back out for her memorial. Our past trips back home had being filled with excitement and joy, and even as a six-year-old, I could pick up that something about this trip was different. The next day, we got dressed up in our best clothes and went to the Arts Club. Because I was so little, all I was thinking about was how much I was excited to get dressed up in my pretty blue dress. We heard my dad and uncle give heartfelt eulogies, and then, in true Buffy style, there was a party. It was a really nice way of remembering her life in a happy way. Many people came up to me and said, “She’s in a better place now” or “I’m sorry for your loss.” I knew she was gone, but I didn’t understand why there were so many old people here.
All this sadness had made me thirsty, so I walked up the bar and asked for a Shirley Temple with extra cherries.
The

My other foot flew behind me, and both my hands sprayed out to catch me. My Shirley Temple fell to the floor in slow motion, hitting the floor with a kaboom and then shattering into a million pieces. All of the ice and sugary syrup rained down on top of me, cold ice falling down my dress, and sticky syrup covering my hair. I made like the glass, and also fell apart, loudly sobbing as I sat in a pile on the floor. As the red liquid slowly formed a puddle on the pristine white carpet, I wanted nothing more than to disappear there and then. Everyone turned and stared, many of Chicago’s elite shaking their head in sympathy, but also in