Descriptive Essay About My Family

The world was soft and warm. There were sweet voices and bright colors that surrounded me, begging for comfort. I lay with my small body swaddled in a blanket, resting on a soft green sofa. My head propped up on a plump pillow facing the fireplace. The sound of the sweet voice in my ears and the smooth blanket eased my aching. My brain pulsed behind my eyelids with every movement. My bones were stiff and sharp, but still gave me the urge to move them awake again. I arch my back and widened my arms, my fingers outstretched to the room. My hand falls on something wet and cold. I grasp it and am met with a hot slimey tongue over my fingers; a greeting. I turn to meet the wide brown eyes of my companion, the one who refused to leave my side from the beginning of my harsh fever. He whined and laid his jaw on my belly, still not taking his big eyes off me.

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

Her name is Erin, and her story doesn’t begin tonight. Her story actually began a week ago while she was sitting on her bed. It was her birthday and she had just turned seven. She was busy going through the contents of an old shoe box, and she was crying. In her hand, she held a photograph of her and her mother. They were in their backyard next to a rose garden, and her mother had her arms around her, holding her tightly. Erin remembered every moment of that day. How the sunlight warmed her skin, the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air, the rhythmical buzzing of a humming bird’s wings that had flown into the yard only fleetingly right before her father had taken the picture. That day was two years ago now, and seventeen months before ovarian cancer had taken her

Warily, I walked over to where my father was standing right outside the school, waiting for Cole and I, when I saw he had shades on, I knew for sure that something was wrong, due to the fact he never wore shades. When we were to the pick-up my whole family was in there. Noticing, when I jumped in the pick-up, my mother also had shades on. Anxiously, I sat there attentively for the longest second of my life, then my father stammered to us that grandfather had passed away. Countless emotions were running through me, overwhelmed; I didn’t know what to think, raving; owing to they said he was going to be adequate, grieving; due to I didn’t get to talk t6o my grandfather before he passed

Lori and Scotty came to my childhood home to pick up me and my mother up. They were on their way to a doctor’s appointment for Scotty. They were worried because my half-brother was lethargic, weak, and seemed to have the flu or a cold over and over again. At this age I was unclear on what was going on and or how serious it was that he was sick all the time. All I knew was that the adults, mainly his mother, were extremely concerned about him. To me everything was the same he still looked like any other almost four year old child with his puppy dog brown eyes and soft dark curls that had never been cut. Scotty was such a happy little boy and His happiness was infectious. The smile on his face spread from his face to mine like the

Just before the my first day of middle school, my Aunt was admitted into the hospital. She had a gruesome battle with colon cancer for the past 18 months. She had been to the hospital many times before, had large amounts of her intestines removed, and lived to tell the tale. Sadly, this was not one of those times. This was my mother’s sister, and she drove to the Akron hospital to visit her. She came home that evening and sat me down, and I knew from the grave look on her face that something was wrong. “Justin, Aunt Patti isn’t coming home.” I cried and reasoned and asked why the doctors couldn’t do anything. My mother could not give the answers I so desired. I cried myself to sleep. The last seven days of my aunt’s life were spent in hospice. She was on an large amount of painkillers so she couldn't feel any more pain. Her eyes were closed and couldn’t talk, she was in an almost comatose state. I remember walking into her room for the first time. I’d never seen more love in one place. Her husband sat and slept in a chair beside her bed. We all were talking to her and joking and laughing about the good times had. The doctor said she couldn’t hear us, but that didn’t stop us. Any time she exhaled or let out a subtle grunt or moan, that was our sign that she was listening, trying to

At the age of just twenty-eight years old my mother had decided to finally have the surgery she’d been waiting her entire life for. She was scheduled to have spinal correction surgery, a two part, eight hours a piece procedure where they would install screws and rods from the top of her neck to the bottom of her lower back. Which, for my younger sister and I, meant months of living with relatives and family friends while she recovered. For a pair of eight and five-year-old little girls this was a lot to digest. At such young ages neither of us fully understood what we were about to watch our mother endure, but what we did both know is that we were going to get through it together.

Keath was fourteen years old at the time. His own middle school graduation was later in the week. I hadn’t thought that he was sick at all this day. An infection for him could be fatal. My brother was born with only half of his heart functioning. Several surgeries dotted his first few years of life. I didn’t even meet my brother until almost a month after he was born because he was so sick. Over the years, doctors had been able to figure out how to rework his heart so it would function, but my brother was still fairly fragile. My mom worried over even the smallest of colds. Nothing could have prepared me for this sudden hospitalization. All of the joy and excitement of the day flooded

Once we walked into the hospital room that my mom was in I was feeling scared and alone. My mom couldn’t move at all. I asked her if she was ok. “I’m in a lot of pain, but I will be better soon,” she said with a grimace. Before I had to leave I gave her a wary hug because I didn’t want to hurt her. Once we got back in the waiting room with the rest of my family, we found out she had torn a disk in her back.

Some worse than others, children are known to have their flaws. Making mistakes and learning are all a part of growing up, but for Jace, these mistakes came few and far between. The day Jace entered this world, our family knew he had been a blessing. Being the first “real” grandchild in the family, due to the fact my brother and I were just step grandchildren, belief had it that he would become spoiled; however, that concept was not grasped as quickly as expected. Many qualities including his compassion, willingness to help, and social ability provided the boy with the infectious smile the ability to shine light upon our lives.

“Wake up kids!” my mom exclaimed her words dragging me off the bed and into the shower. I jumped back as the sharp cold water pierced the skin on my chest, a stream of “wake up” filled my body immediately. We woke up earlier than usual, which would probably be the usual for other families, my family was already dressed and downstairs ready to go to our friends family reunion. I threw on a faded shirt and a worn pair of jeans, they were old and i was wearing them, and headed down the stairs and into my mom’s grey minivan.

“Caio, Caio, Caio” Everyone says as I enter through the old crumbling door into the main room. The tomato and basil smells from the kitchen make their way to my nose. “Come va?” “Sembri proprio tuo padre!” Everyone is screaming to tell me something and then my grandmother screams “Okay, that’s enough!” Silence swept the room. Everyone was gathered around like they were ready for a ceremony. With red cheeks and sweat running down his face, my grandfather introduced everyone. Every person coming up and kissing me on each cheek. The small stuffy room smelled like pasta and only had one window for enough light to shine through to see the mustiness in the room. It was an only house with crosses up in every room. All of the family is Catholic and it showed immensely through their personalities. Everyone broke up and spread throughout the creaky old house.

When I was sixteen years old, I realized I was similar to my brother, Jason. I always thought that one of us, or maybe both of us, had been adopted. We look nothing like the rest of our family and nothing like each other. He is tall and I am short; he has dark skin and I have white skin; he has brown hair and brown eyes and I have blonde hair and blue eyes. From these differences, we are really quite similar. We both share a unique similar bond that helps trick people in thinking we are one in the same. On a typical Friday afternoon, my mom thought Jason said “hello” when he walked in the front door but in reality, it was me.

my family is a strange one to say the least, m ybrothers names is jacob hitt baldowski and he's a good brother, he can tell when im not in a good mood, he tries to get me into a better mood but it almost always leads to a fight where i end up getting hurt.

“Son… you are not going to school today.” My dad announced to me solemnly as I just opened my eyes waking up. “Your great grandpa has died over night and we are going to the hospital today.” Confusion was my companion that very hour as I got ready. My parents were serious and not really talking to my siblings and me. You could see the dried up tears on my father’s face. Sadness