A Short Story : The Story Of My Grandma's Home

It’s so still here, so quiet, so peaceful. I walked past rows of gravestones as I finally approached the site where my relatives lay. To many, visiting their relatives in a cemetery can be a sad experience; I however, was happy for them, because they still gathered together as they had before. I smiled as I remembered those times, when I was but a child and I could just barely see over the table. I could hear their talking and laughter again. How warm and familiar it all was! I remembered how laughter would erupt after my father told a good joke – he was always telling jokes. I could even smell the feast my mother and aunts would cook for us, and could almost feel them slapping my hand as I tried to sneak a piece of turkey before the meal. I remembered sitting at the smaller table with my cousins and siblings, feeling as if I were too old to sit at the kid's table. I remembered feeling left out, as if the adults kept some kind of grown-up secret from me. That same feeling I felt again, as I stood there seeing them all lying as they used to sit, in those two long rows. Although I had grown to be an adult, they still seemed to keep some secret from me, one that I was not to know of yet, one that I am not ready yet to

It was difficult to see her in this way. I saw how small she had gotten, swallowed by the stark, white sheets. Even as I struggled with the sight of what was visible about my Grandma, I could sense she was at peace. Cautiously, I approached her bed and she looked up at me with a smile on her face. Grandma squeezed my hand and thanked me. A week later, I attended her funeral. Throughout the funeral process, I did not cry. I was handling death in a way I understood and could handle. A week later, everything finally sunk in and I sobbed with grief. I tried my best to adjust to school again as I battled with my own

I met this incredible woman late in my life. She happened to come into my life once my mom married her son. She always had something interesting to say about her life. When this paper was discussed in class I knew who exactly I was going to write about. Here is the story of Teresa Torres:

Right across the street, five steps, five hops, and 2 giant steps that was all it took for me to get to my grandmas house from my front door to her front door, it was that easy. One glance out the window to make sure her small tan explorer was in there driveway and it was off to grandma's house, the place where most of my childhood memories formed,the place that was so old it traveled from Kentucky to Missouri with my grandparents, the place that meant a lot to me.

As I lay in bed, I kept thinking about the days where I would go visit her in the nursing home, only to open the door to her singing gospel songs with her wide grin filled with missing teeth or the times when we would stroll through the neighborhood on a hot day to find our special spot, where the shade protected us from the scorching hot sun and the wind blew slightly to cool down our burning cheeks. I finally looked out the window to see darkness, and like how the sun rises and falls so did her emotions and memories.

The afternoon sun peeked through the window and bounced off lightly down the creases of her face, enveloping her in a soft, golden glow. Becoming aware of my presence, she turned and grinned with her characteristic smile that permeates many of my most cherished memories. For a split second, a hint of recognition gleamed in her clouded eyes, but it soon dissipated into the thin air and she looked away again, staring bleakly into nothingness. A stranger. That's who I am to my grandmother now.

Reporter stated the following: The same thing is going on. Somebody down the road told me thst she is staying at her house and with her dad with my daugther. The mom has no running water. She has not had running water for 2 or 3 months. She went to my stepmom’s house to take a shower. She probably does not have running water on. the house has mold. The roof in the house leaks bad. She still smokes marijuanna around my child. The last time she smoked marijuanna around my child was before she went to jail. She went to jail on March 5th. I was told that the mom had done crystak meth and crack. I do not know if she is doing crystal meth ot crack noe but I reported it.

So many emotions passed through Grandma’s head, disbelief, joy, relief. Her deep sunken brown eyes looked as though the sun were shining behind them. Smile lines becoming more defined as a look of pure joy overtook all her features. Her small hands flew up to her face, covering her mouth and nose.

The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.

The curtains of her room were a soft pink, also matching her rug. She also had a book-case, but unlike mine, it was new and sturdy. The significant difference between our rooms was a desk. Atop her desk there were stacks and stacks of papers. I creeped to the surface. Her drawings were quite morbid for such a sweet girl.

I was walking down Morden Hall Road while the sun seemed to gleam at me. The light from the enigmatic sun reflected off a car window and to my immense surprise. I thought I saw my grandmother quarrelling animatedly with someone. A dark blue isolated cloud obscured the sun and DRIP! DROP! Large drops of rain fell on me, so I rummaged for my umbrella in my school bag. Turning around, the two people had vanished. Where was my grandma? Who was she disputing with? I was apprehensive as she was not as stable when she was younger.

(Lights on. Anna is running towards her mom’s car and jump onto the front seat next to her mom. Anna looks very excited since she came back from school. She fastens her seatbelt and the car slowly moves out from the garage.)

My Grandmother’s house will always have a special place in my heart. I love it so much because it’s her only house in Florida. She was raised up in the Cayman Islands, where she spent most of her life until she moved down to Florida. When she came to move in, I was about 10 and was overly excited to help her move in. Driving into the neighborhood, the first thing I noticed was that all the houses looked very similar, a dark brown roof with white walls and some stairs leading to the front door, which always seemed to creep me out. When I got to my Grandmother’s house, it was in the corner of a cul de sac. In the middle of the cul de sac, was a very large oak tree surrounded by dark green bushes with different colored plants and surrounding it was a cement curb. The tree stood about 50 feet tall and the bushes were bright green with red leaves on them and changed colors during the fall. In front of the house to the left was a patch of grass for a garden and to the right was a sidewalk that would lead to the backyard. When I walked in, the first thing to grab my eye was this giant mirror she had in the living room. It’s one of the biggest mirrors i’ve seen. It stood maybe about 50 feet tall and covers the whole back wall of her living room. Upstairs, she has two guest bedrooms along with her own master bedroom. Downstairs was the kitchen and dining room and in the kitchen she had an enclosed patio as well as one next to the living room. Both patios lead to the backyard where

Herman, the part of rural Minnesota no one even knows exists, population 426. The worn down elementary school, the old elevator, post office, liquor store, and bank. That’s it. That’s all that exists in the tiny town. Broken, crumbling roads. Houses falling to pieces, lawns overgrown with weeds. Everything falling apart. Except there’s my grandparents’ house. The tall, wooden brown house perfectly put together on the edge of town, towering over everything that used to be.

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.