Grandma As I drifted down the hallway, it seemed endless. With my stomach in my throat I walked. I could not feel my feet hitting the ground, nor notice anyone around me. I just walked. The smell of the place was intoxicating. It reminded me of insulin or disinfectant spray. I entered her room; it was dark. The sound of beeping machines echoed in my ears. I walked to her bed. She was sleeping soundly. Her body was frail and looked as if she was bone covered with skin. She was weak and tired. The
a normal day and fun night, but never did I expect to lose a very important person in my life. That day I was supposed to be at home taking care of my grandma; however, I chose to go out with my friends. We were partying, drinking, and having fun. Unfortunately, I ignored my dad’s caring words, “Son please stay home and take care of your grandma for she is ill.” My parents trusted to do a simple task, but I breached the trust. Since the day she was gone, I couldn’t forgive myself for not attending
hold "an Irish wake" and lubricate themselves with alcohol. The residents of Wisner mostly went home to their beds. It turned out that no one had volunteered to stay with my grandpa from the hours of 2:00 AM to 6:00 AM, and hysteria broke out. My grandma was heartbroken. My mom was scrambling to solve the problem. Then I spoke up: "I'm used to staying up all night. I can do it." Everyone looked at me and blinked. "Really?" they said. "All night?" I took my notebook to the church and sat in the
Grandma, Schnitzel and Politics I strolled the streets of Tel Aviv taking in the smell of fried falafel mixed with the salty ocean breeze. I watched people hurrying, lunging for bus doors before drivers pulled away. Then I realized that if I didn't get to my grandmother's in ten minutes, I'd be late - an offense that could provoke the dreaded silent treatment. I ran from the beach to her apartment on Bet-Lechem street and flew up the stairs two at a time, jumping over the Arab lady who sat scrubbing
My Grandmother Children! The sound of her strident voice reverberates down the narrow stairwell. I remember that musty, dark, winding stairwell that led to her second floor apartment in Glendale as vividly as I did the day I established a meaningful relationship with my grandmother. Through this relationship, I have come to know her as a friend, a confidante, and lastly, a woman I admire. I was only seven at the time, and the only thing I cared about was the fact that my grandmother
My Grandfather – A Man of Respect Winds scratch his hands and his sharp bones deeply assert their lineaments. He stands like a trembling leaf on the branch of an evergreen, and will not fall. (Emmanuel di Pasquale, "Old Man Timochenko") This stanza from Emmanuel di Pasquale's poem "Old Man Timochenko" portrays my grandfather well. My grandfather is a man of respect because he never gave up on life, not even when his friends and family were burned alive on a train traveling from
Eulogy for Grandmother I'd like to talk today about my grandmother, Ruth Smith - about who she was, what she meant to us, and what this day means. Grandma was a homemaker and a lifelong resident of Marshall. This might seem like a constrained life to some, but I don't think Grandma would have agreed, and I'd like to explain why. She was a person with great curiosity - she read all the time, she worked crossword puzzles every day, and she loved watching documentaries on television. In fact
staying at my Grandma's house I had been scared, but nothing compared to the fear that ran through my veins on this unforgettable night. I remember how exciting the idea of living with my grandma and being independent from my parents for a whole summer while our new house was being built sounded to me. My grandma lives in a house that is over a 100 years old! I really don't believe it is haunted or anything, but I have definitely heard sounds in the night, some louder and scarier than other nights
elementary school and junior high I didn’t lie about my parents, but I didn’t freely offer up information about them either. I usually tried to avoid the subject at all costs. When I was in second or third grade, one of my classmates thought my mom was my grandma. I remember it being dark outside when this happened, so we must have been at school for our annual Christmas pageant. Since our school didn’t have too many extracurricular activities, that was the only time we were ever in the school after hours
american town. There is the girl, who's name is never revealed and the Grandma, who's name is never revealed as well. The girl is kept at her grandma's house against her will. Her father sent her out to her Grandma's not telling her that she would be staying for good. The Grandma is very critical of everything the girl does. She doesn't approve of any aspect of the girls character. The girl feels the same way about her Grandma. Neither two of the characters get along. After an argument the girl runs
As I hefted my gigantic duffel bag onto my back and hugged my pillow tightly, I searched the crowd of what seemed like millions of parents for mine. I finally spotted them standing by the baseball field. As I tried to make my way through the crowd, I noticed how different my mother looked. Her face looked much older than I ever remember it looking, but that was soon forgotten in all my excitement. When I finally got to my parents, I gave them each big hugs, and then we headed for the car. Once
it calling, "Hello Grandma." My voice echoes and Grandma says hello from wherever she is, usually the desk. The smell of cinnamon gently envelops me as I step inside. Most antique stores smell musty and old like the merchandise they hold. I close the door softly, but the sleigh bells still jingle. In the summer and spring, when the refreshing smell of potpourri fills the store, Grandma offers me a soda or ice cream, but today, in the fall, she offers a cup of coffee. Grandma goes back to the kitchen
grandmother, her mom, Esther P. Kelly. My great grandmother always attended church and would pray constantly during the day and night. My grandma was always curious as to why her mother was always praying. All through out childhood she would just watch my great grandma pray and do other religious acts of worship. When she became an adult she was finally able to ask my great grandma why it was that she prayed so much and how it came to be. My great grandmother answered by saying that she knows God can hear her
Eulogy for Grandmother When I think of Mary Helen Smith, also known to me as Grandma, I think of learning, laughter and love. Now all of the felicitous times are just a big barrier of memories surrounding my heart. I can remember doing puzzles with my Grandma. The table she'd use came up to my chin when I was first interested in the concept of putting pieces of colorful cardboard together. When we had finished forming all the pieces together, I was in pure fascination of how beautiful
current decline in moral values. "The Return" reminds me to be more thankful for the many things I take for granted. It also makes me think about how hard it can be to cope with change. In the poem "Those Rainy Mornings" I am reminded of my grandma and what a kind, loving, wonderful person she is. In Frank Chipasula's poem "Those Rainy Mornings" the speaker is talking about his aunt Gwalanthi. The speaker tells us what a wonderful loving person his aunt is. In the first section
can't think of anything more exciting than the image of the entire family preparing the Christmas Tree or fixing the Christmas dishes. When I think of Christmas the first thing that pops into my mind is the delicious Chocolate Cake that only my grandma knows how to prepare. Perhaps this is the reason why, every year, my family and me try to spend our holiday at our grandma's place. So, every year, we all step into the car and try not to think at the long road that we have in f...
can barely accommodate all three of us at the same time. I sit in the rickety metal chair with the white pleather seat and pull-down step. The chair squeals with my every movement. I rest my elbows on the cold formica countertops as I talk to my grandma and grandpa. The sharp corner jabs into my side, and I quickly
Narrative – I Found Timelessness at Grandma's House It was finally fall break. I was visiting my grandma for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the white stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves to the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the right, a small iron table and chairs, along with an old antique brass pole lamp, and on the left, a flowered glider that I have spent many a summer
Christmas Memories Approaching Grandma's, our family anticipates the grand holiday about to be rekindled once again. With our family and friends about to be reunited with each other, each family member is trying not to notice how long the last kilometer is taking. The trees along the road seem to crawl by slower as Dad pushes his foot harder. Inch by inch, Second by second, we approach the long awaited destination. Finally when we arrive at Grandma's house our long journey is over. We
grandchildren, and in how she welcomed in new family and friends, her unconditional strong love is what has made our family what it is today and what will keep us together from this day forward. Spirit : My Grandma, Mildred Johnson, is a true woman of faith. For as far back as I can remember, my Grandma has been a conveyor of the word of God in developing her family and living her daily life. Never would she miss a Sunday to share the word and love of God. As time moves forward not all of God’s children