My Grandmother - Original Writing

Starting my life off, things were great, I was the youngest of three boys; Alex is my oldest brother who is currently 24, my second oldest brother is 20. In addition to my two brothers I have both supportive and caring parents. My family and I practice Methodist, which started shortly after I was born with me being baptized while surrounded by my; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, two brothers, and both my mom and dad. After being baptized as a family we would occasionally go to church but sadly as time pasted we when went less and less till we stopped shortly before we moved to Florida. The summer before we moved to Florida I was in the fourth grade and became good friends with a girl named Kristen and her family was heavily religious. Kristen and I started to hang out more and more one day she invited me to go to one of her churches services and I really enjoyed it, afterwards they had a youth group where they had a bonding activity. Kristen and I went to church a few more times before I left in late July to move to Jacksonville.

Growing up I just had my mother and myself. I had never met my father, and all I knew were a few minuscule details surrounding him and his life. Therefore, throughout my life, I would have to depend completely on my mother, and at times like this she would have to depend on me.

One summer morning, the aroma of breakfast sausages lured me into the cabin’s kitchen, the place of great food and even greater messes.

One central idea developed in a letter to my daughter is that forgiveness, acceptance and moving on are the milestones to a better life.

Many people have entered and left my life but the most memorable person in my life has been my grandmother, Emiliana Alcauter Resendiz. She lived with my family and me for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately she passed away when I was 10. To me she was a truly astonishing woman.

Today, radical misconception believe that they finally are in reach to dominate the world by intimidation, heresy, apostasy, and half-truths. They see Christians as not tolerant, arrogant, close minded, and out of modernism. These people are rejecting any type of moral values, saying that they have found understanding or have understood what religion truly is based on their reasoning, thoughts, feelings, and inclinations. However, your story fits perfectly in this scenario of hope to this dying world. The same way your parents and grandparents valued morality, peace, freedom, knowledge, human rights by not compromising the true Gospel and planting that seed on you. For this reason, your family is the perfect model by which

My parents raised me in Christian home since I was born. They would take me to church every time they had the opportunity to take me. However, once I was seven years old, my parents, unfortunately, left the church because they disliked how the new pastor was running the church. Growing up, my parents never fully rejected the Gospel and biblical values, although they stopped regularly attending a church. One a year I would attend church, but I never took it seriously. After leaving the church, my parents constantly argued. Once I turned sixteen, my father became violent towards my mother. Authorities had to get involved at one point. Attempting to restore their relationship, they decided to visit a church that my father's brother was attending.

This is a story about my grandmother Stasia. Born in 1912, she survived two wars, one Soviet regime and some hardships of different kinds. I spent a lot time with her when growing up and I am attempting to convey the way she had to live under difficult circumstances. I am mostly and so far relaying on memories of my own and other members of my family. It makes me realize how much can be lost or altered in time. I wish I had asked her about many things, but youth has its own arrogance which proved to be an obnoxious obstacle!

My grandmother name is Carmella also known as Jamilla. But lots of people and call her Ummi. Ummi mean mother in arabic, and she is like a second mom to many as well as myself. My Grandmother is one of the most influential people in my life. My grandmother has been through so much in her life; as a child her mother suffered from mental problems and both parents had problem with substance addiction. Despite that her parents tried their hardest to stay in their children's lives. My grandmother was 1 of 5 children. When their parent could no longer care for them they were living with their grandmother and living in foster home. So her living in this situation made her grow up fast. My grandmother’s life made her tough and a hard worker. At a young age she found Islam and it change her life. She began to find light in a dark tunnel. My grandmother was stuck before and when she became a Muslim she found faith and answer to all her questions. At 16 she got married she had two kids one being my mother that marriage shortly ended and, she soon met and married my grandfather and had 3 more kids at

Death. To some people, death is the gateway to the next transcendent life; to others, death is a disease. Humanity will always see death in different perspectives whether it is true or not. It is a mystery that we will never find out unless we are the same primordial being that gave the world light and darkness. To me, death is a topic I do not tread lightly for it is a third rail. However after experiencing the death of my great grandmother, I began to think whether I should constantly throw away topics that are related to death, and make the topic taboo. On the winter of 2014, I realized that the topic of death wasn’t something taboo but something that I must prepare for.

As the music stops, the lights turn back on, and the talking erupts. I turn to my mom in pure bliss.

I slowly got off my bed and made my way to the door. I opened it slowly so it didn’t make any noise. I examined the suitcase and dragged it to my room. I threw it on my bed and opened it. I looked around my room looking for things to pack. In the other room I heard a faint voice, It was my mother on the phone with someone. I quickly opened the door and ran to her room as quietly as I could. I recognized the voice, It was my grandmother. As much as I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to see grandma but not right now. I heard my mom pause and slowly get up and walk towards the door. I darted to my room but before i even touched the doorknob I felt my mother's presence right behind me.

The time in which I was born was very different than the one my parents had to live in when they were children. I was born in a small town in Colombia, where no more than a hundred families lived. The entire population of my hometown was Catholic. There was a small chapel next to my house and the priest went there once a month to celebrate Mass. He and the seminarians stayed at our home, when they went for the Holy Week and Christmas missions. On Saturdays, my brother and I went to a town an hour away afoot or 20 minutes on a horse, to have further studies. Ninety percent of that town’s population were Pentecostal and only 10 % were Catholic. There was a big Pentecostal Church in the middle of the town and a small Catholic church outside the village. My brother and I went to study there on Saturdays because the Pentecostals offered to us a couple of American godparents who sent us gifts twice a year from the US. Nonetheless, to get those gifts we had to attend school on Saturdays, take pictures with the gifts in our hands, and attend the Pentecostal service once a year. During that service, my brother and I laughed the whole time at the people dancing in the church. My aunt, the only Pentecostal member of a family of twelve siblings, got embarrassed for our behavior every time we attended the service.

It was January 1, 2013 and I was at my grandmas house. It was a tradition that Jiwe go to the zoo lights and the spaghetti factory. But this was one of the worst days of my life. I was sitting there petting my grandma 's dog he was a boxer mix, and usually he is a really nice dog but today he must not have liked blonde little girls because it happened in an instance. He attacked me . I screeched and I pushed my little sister out of the way into the kitchen.. My mom was in my grandma 's bedroom waking my sister up from her nap. She heard the growling from the back room along with my grandma who was in the kitchen cooking. He attacked my lip, his paws held my face as his teeth dug deeper into lip. I was frightened I was pinned up against this wall. My grandma pulled him off of me. My face was mauled.

Everyone was very patient and kind with me when I while I am mourning the loss of my mother until my Aunt Laura decided to come to town. My Aunt was older than my mother she was fifty and would never admit to being older than 45. My Aunt Laura always ignored me and almost never visited. She would acknowledge my presence or even be nice to me so it was very strange to see her here so soon before the funeral. She came in in an all-black attire. She had a black lacy dress with a black boa and a black hat with a veil. My aunt has very dark reddish brown curled hair and over caked on make up to hide her age. She hugged my maid and cried “Oh Amelia what a shame your mother has passed so young.” I looked at her with a tilted head and was like I am Amelia. She quickly came over and repeated her actions. She wiped away some imaginary tears with a laced hanker chief to make herself look dignified and told me “Well that’s enough of that, can you show me to my room?” My aunt had seemed to pack her whole house into one car. I hoped this stay was temporary but it had seemed like she had plan to stay forever. All my aunt seemed to care about was when the reading of the will would be arranged. My grief had kept me from even starting any of the funeral plans so I left it to my maid to start. My Aunt seem to laugh at my idea and insisted on arranging the will plans for tomorrow.