Personal Narrative: My Beloved Grandmother, Bertha

Christopher Reeve once wrote, “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” I believe that ones hero is not only someone they look to for strength, but also find inspiration to make it through their own obstacles in life. A hero might not be dressed in a flowing cape, or wear a suite made of material able to withstand the heat of red, molten lava, but someone that you find refuge in. My inspiration is my beloved Grandmother, Bertha. The inspiration I find in my Grandmother Bertha stems from her love for everyone, the endearing way she spoke, and her ability to find the light in any negative situation.

Forbes states that the average person forms an opinion of someone they

I don’t think that this was the case for my Grandmother, Bertha. Grandma always approached people with a sort of light on her shoulders. She always had positive things to say about anyone that came across her path. I recall a time when we went to the grocery store and the parking lot seemed like the whole town had congregated at the local market. The weather outside felt as if we were living on the sun. As we circled the parking lot, a car was pulling out just ahead of us. As the car backing out of their spot vacated the parking slip, another car jumped at the open slip like a NASCAR racer taking a turn. Even as a young boy, I was infuriated. How could someone be so disrespectful when we had the obvious intention to take that open slip? I looked at my Grandmother and said, “Grandma, that wasn’t very nice of him!” In her sweet southern voice she turned to me and said “Child, some people in this world are just in too much of a hurry. That man obviously needs that slip more than we do.” Those words, spoken in the most sincere southern voice have forever resonated with me. As a child, I would spend my

I swear Grandma Bertha’s primary color of eyesight was platinum itself. My first childhood pet was a beautiful, yellow eyed, Russian blue cat I named Midnight. Midnight wasn’t just any cat; he was my compare as a kid. He slept with me, followed me around the house, and would even try to climb into my backpack before I would leave for the bus. One summer, while staying at my grandparent’s house midnight passed away. My mother called my grandmother and asked her to deliver the devastating news. A few days later we went on a trip to Costco and I was told to go pick out my favorite candy. I ran down the candy isle like a child at Disneyland for the time. I grabbed a five-pound bag of sour gummy worms and tossed it in the cart. Later that night I was given multiple containers to store my candy in. As I sat cross-legged at my Grandmothers feet, she turned to me and said, “Child, you know that all things in life are both bitter and sweet. Just like that candy you have there.” With a somewhat perplexed look on my face I looked at her and nodded in agreement. She proceeded to tell me Midnight went to heaven. Naturally, I started to get upset but Grandma knew just what to do next. She opened her arms and I climbed up in her lap. Before I could start to cry, Grandma told me that he passed while playing his favorite game. Midnight loved to run out of the