My Life Of My Grandmother

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner, “Joe,” my father hollered up the stairs, “it’s for you. It’s Jackie, and she sounds upset.” As I came downstairs to pick up the phone, I was not happy. I was tired and had looked forward to a nice quiet evening at home, not another stupid adventure with Jackie.

The parents came out of Grandma’s room by one by one, bags under their eyes, makeup running down their face, and bright red noses. By that time, I could almost predict what happened. As my mom and dad approached us with their heads down, I prepared myself to hear exactly what I never wanted to hear. “The doctors are turning off the life support machine. She isn’t suffering anymore, and she will be looking over every one of you guys. She said she loves you all so much,” Mom told us while my dad didn’t hide his tears back.

It was near the end of winter 2005, when my grand-aunt suddenly fell ill. In a short period of time her illness worsened and the doctors informed my family, my grand-aunt only had a couple of months to live. The news was devastating to my family as we watched a vivacious, independent, and outspoken woman, who enjoyed shopping, reading mystery novels and spending time with family become very weak and confined to her bed. Instead of placing my grand-aunt in a hospice facility, my family and I, with the assistance of a hospice nurse cared for my grand-aunt in her home until her passing.

Religion has always been around for many years and will continue to live on. Since 2014, there are an estimated 4,200 different religions, all over the world each believing in different things Having their own set of rules and tradition that must be followed. Storytelling became a way to give people advice or telling people what would happen if they disobey their religious rules or tradition. In the story of a grandmother, it critiques religion for the way it can lead to snap judgments and a loss of freedom.

“I don’t feel so well” Jan’s father had suddenly said one morning at breakfast. Her father, a World War II veteran, stood up and went to go lie down. The rest of the

I was four years old and playing with my cousin in the guest room of my grandfather’s home in northern Michigan. Despite the frigid temperatures and snow piled up to my nose, I looked forward to this trip every year. I rarely had the opportunity to see my father’s family, and I had no idea why. Just as my cousin and I shoved a copy of The Wizard of Oz into the VCR, my father entered and hurriedly scooped me up in his arms. “We’re leaving now,” he said, and exited the room. I pounded on his chest and yelled, but he made a beeline to the door. Just as we were about to leave, I saw a strange woman out of the corner of my eye. She was talking animatedly to my aunts and uncles, and I heard one of them call her “sis.” My dad called her nothing.

My grandfather’s body was slumped over on one side of his wheelchair, and I screamed when seeing his face turning purple. A few moment later, my father ran into the house, and he immediately drove my grandfather to the hospital. The doctor told my family that my grandpa only had one week left to live. The next day, my father saw a text from my uncle saying that grandpa has passed away eight o’clock in the morning. My father felt regret since he did not have the chance to see him for the last time. I was overwhelmed and shocked by what my father told me. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding faster than the beating drum. It was at that moment my eyes started to become blurry because my tears slowly ran down my cheeks. My grandfather was the most inspiring man that I had ever made in my

I was walking to my house after a long day of school. All day I was waiting for this moment; To see my dog. I walked inside. I saw my dad, which was strange because he was never home. I look around. There was an empty dog bed, covered in brownish-red fur. My sister’s head was in her hands, she was shaking uncontrollably. I turn towards my dad, his eyes filled with pity and sorrow. I set my backpack down and search for my companion. Being the insensitive and ignorant child I was, I ask, “ Where’s Duke?”. My dad glanced at me making direct contact. The words I was about to absorb , were almost deadpan. He replied monotonously, “ He’s gone.”. The only word that can explain how I was feeling was numb. I hadn’t realized the stumble backwards into the wall, or the tears shed, not even the comfort I was trying to be given. Though I thought that this was going

The other day I spotted the corner of an album tucked carefully under my mother’s wedding dress in the attic. In the album I saw a photograph of Father proudly smiling in his soldier’s uniform. There were photos of Father and I tightly hugging each other, grinning at one another, and Father playfully flinging me into the air. They were all frozen, nostalgic moments in time. Tears brimmed my eyes as I recalled memories of my Father. The strong yet kind, agile face with twinkling brown eyes and bushy eyebrows was no more.

With my father’s health on the line as usual, life went on. I had been watching for years the maturation of my once young at heart father into a cynical senior citizen.

I had just finished my basketball practice. I was feeling ecstatic because I was making baskets left and right like Kobe Bryant. My coach even told me that he has never seen me play like that before. Then I strutted outside and found my father parked outside the school in his large, brown pick-up truck. I hopped inside and turned my seat heater to high because it was frigid, winter weather outside. My dad made some casual small talk, then he gave me the news. He stated in a low, dull voice, “Hey Jack, grandma past away today.”

My mother and father sat downstairs and talked, Bella sitting with them, while I folded my clothes and put them into my chipped white wooden dresser. I could hear them murmuring between themselves, but I couldn’t hear specific words. My mother came up the stairs about ten minutes later as I was putting the last of my clothes into my dresser. Her five feet two-inch frame stood just inside my door with a Mona Lisa smile. Her eyes were sad and I could tell she was trying to hold back tears. I was confused as to why, and I was going to ask what was wrong, but she told me that my father had something he wanted to talk to me about.

Ever get the chance to put together your own outfit for the day? Well, I mean literally have you ever had to sew together your outfit? If not, well let me start it off with “WOW!”, grandma's work isn’t as easy as it seems. Not only did i learn how difficult it is to sew, but i had the chance to be able to express my funny side. This week i chose as one of my portfolios a unique project, where i sewed together my outfit. At first, i envisioned it being a joke, since i would never wear it personally, but I saw the fun and good vibes it would bring to the classroom atmosphere. We started off with the simple idea of creating one of the outfits used by one of the boys in the movie, The Sound of Music. First, we had to sketch out a drawing of the outfit to get an

I clearly remember the day I found out about my granddad's passing. I was at school. It was a normal, joyful day. My dad was planning on picking me up, but instead my friend's mom picked me up. He would not tell me why, but I did not think much of it. I remember the car ride to my house. My friend's mom would not tell me why she was driving me home; all she told me was, "Just know, Ryan, that we will be here for you no matter

Both my parents burst through the doors, looking slightly concerned. “Mehak, why are you screaming?” My mom questioned. My eyes started to get watery, thinking of all the terrible possibilities, and I got a feeling in my gut that something was wrong. “Grandpa... H-he...w-were t-talking a-and h-he started c-coughing a-and the l-line w-went d-dead.” I stuttered, not knowing what to think. My dad flew out of the room, probably to contact my grandma about what was going on.