My grandpa was a treasure hunter. Every Saturday, he woke up before the sun and went in search of the rarest riches. But, then one Saturday he didn't. My mom told me his body got too old and tired. She said he "passed away", which is what grown-ups sometimes say when a person dies. After Grandpa died, no one in my family felt quite right. My sister was grouchier than ever, and Dad wasn't nearly as wacky-silly-goofy as usual. I even saw my mom cry! I didn't feel much like myself either, but imagining Grandpa’s treasure full of dazzling jewels, sparkling gems, and other shiny VALUABLE things, made me feel better. This morning, I woke to my mom leaning over my bed. "Spencer, my sweet, wake up. We're going to visit Grandma today," she …show more content…
Grandma was sitting in her squeaky reclining chair doing her word puzzles. The daily news blasted out of the TV. Grandpa's candy sat in a dish on the kitchen table like always, but Grandpa wasn't there to share it with me. Without him, I didn't even feel like eating a single piece. Mom left to run errands for Grandma like always, but this time I felt lonelier than ever. I felt a tight, tingling feeling creeping up my throat, but before my eyes could make a tear I remembered...THE TREASURE! Even though I'd never seen Grandpa's treasurer (or ANY treasure for that matter), I knew I'd feel better after I had. I told Grandma about how imagining Grandpa's treasure helped me when I was feeling down and begged to see it. "Pleeeeeeease?" I …show more content…
I saw newspapers clippings, an old magazine with the face of a president on the cover and a big orange and blue button from 1985 when my grandpa's favorite football team won "The Big Bowl Game". I also saw an old photograph of two teenage kids; one was a boy and the other a girl. Baffled, I looked to my grandma. The smile on her face only confused me more. My grandpa was a treasure hunter! He searched for the rarest riches! Surely there had to be jewels and gems! This had to be a mistake! "I think this is the wrong treasure chest," I said, unable to hide my feelings of disappointment. "This stuff doesn't look valuable at all! It's not even sparkly or shiny!" Still smiling, Grandma picked up the old photograph of the two teenage kids. She pointed to the girl. "This was me when I was much younger," she said. I looked at her and then back at the photo. This time I recognized her warm, comforting smile in the photograph. "This was your grandpa," she said pointing to the boy. "We took this picture in a photo booth on our first date many, many, years ago." "Amazing!" I said. I never saw Grandpa or Grandma without gray hair and wrinkly skin. I picked up the little box with the tooth inside. "Well, THIS is a strange thing to keep in a treasure chest," I
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
The joys of having a loving, caring, and sweet grandmother, all stolen from me by cancer. The day of her diagnosis and the doctors giving her a time expectancy. Sitting in the room, Dr. Vargas mumbled, “Lucila Toro, I’m sorry to inform you have stage two pancreatic cancer.” As a child, I was trying to grasp this information of how all my beliefs in God could fail me, death I had hoped my
I slowly opened the front door -- the same old creak echoed its way throughout the old house, announcing my arrival just seconds before I called out, "Grandma!" She appeared around the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how good to see you." It was her eighty-fifth birthday today, an amazing feat to me, just part of everyday life to her. The familiar mix of Estee Lauder and old lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "admire how much I've grown." I stopped growing eight years ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing this fact out. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even when my father and his brothers grew up here more than forty years ago -- musty smoke and apple pie blended with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my grandfather's contribution, whose habit took him away from us nearly five years ago; the latter, of course, comes from the delectable delights from my grandmother's kitchen. Everything was just as it should be.
I would like to thank you all for coming to Arlyn's funeral. I am truly touched that you care enough to show your support for us and your respect for Arlyn this way.
Where do I start? How do I begin a farewell when I still can't believe you're gone? How do I say goodbye to a part of my soul?
As I grow older, I will attempt to create a life that I can look back on and think, “That was a life worth living.” Recently, my boyfriend’s grandfather passed away. He knew that his last day was near, but he kept saying that he was not sad, for he had lived a long full life (Matthew Morel, personal communication, February 2016). Contrarily, my grandmother, who is still living today, is obviously in a state of
I woke up to the sound of my mom calling my name. ‘’Just five more minutes,’’ I said as I pulled the covers over my head. ‘’We’re going to Yosemite.’’ my mom said. My mom finally dragged me out of bed. I trudged into the bathroom and then brushed my teeth and got dressed. ‘’Well look who got up.’’ my grandma yelled. My sister ruffled my hair. ‘’Hey bro.’’ my sister said sitting down for breakfast. I went and joined her. “Do you want cereal or french toast?” asked my grandma. “I’ll have cereal please.” I said. We all ate breakfast and packed some backpacks with waters and got on the road by 8:30. My sister sang a song I didn’t recognize. “What song is that?” I asked. “Heart of gold” she replied. “Never heard of it” I said. We pulled up to the
“So, so beautiful. Marked, but even in this dirty basement, she was so clean. I was all about her life and I realized the details from the files wouldn't be enough.”
Having someone in your life that you consider special is a wondering feeling. And when this person has played so many different roles throughout my life it’s a magnificent feeling for her to feel so accomplished and so admired. When I think back to everything I’ve done I can’t look over the fact that the reason I did it is because she made me the fantastic person I am. I’m glad she passed all the things on to me and I hope I can do the same to next generations. The traditions that we have created are known throughout my entire family and I’m glad that we were both a part of them. She is an extraordinary person and I look forward to all the great memories I still have left with her to create. My Grandma is with out a doubt the most influential person in my life and I’m so grateful for her presence.
...n the stairs, sorting all the clothes in the different closets was very physically tiring, even for a twelve year old boy. Then later we worked on cooking the dinner of cabbage, soup, grilled chicken, and salmon, that she had planned. We washed and cut the vegetables together. While we were doing that she made jokes about how I didn’t do the tasks correctly. We had so much fun because we were cooking, talking, and laughing. After we were finished making dinner, I felt accomplished about what I made. We gave each other a hug because we realized that we enjoy each other’s company and that we had fun. Then she thanked me for all the work I helped her with and I felt uplifted and joyful because I got to help her and more importantly spent time with her. I never realized how hard her job was and my grandmother and I had a surprisingly enjoyable time cleaning and cooking.
Before I begin I would like to thank all of you here on behalf of my mother, my brother and myself, for your efforts large and small to be here today, to help us mark my fathers passing.
I believe that every person in, in their own unique way, creates a legacy in their lifetime by which others can live long after that person has left us. For those of us who remain, Mildred Johnson has truly created a legacy to uphold and fulfill in our daily lives. I firmly believe that this carrying out is a true honor and responsibility by means of the various facets that Mildred has made her own.
Finally, we arrived at our destination. I left the car leaving my parents and little brother behind and ran up the steps to my grandma’s house. I just had to be the first one to knock on her door, so I did. She opened the door for me, and I went inside parting with the bitter cold and darkness surrounding me. Inside the house I was immediately encircled with the aromas of her Christmas cooking and baking. A real fresh Christmas tree which was already beautifully adorned with old family ornaments perforated the air with more holiday aromas. I went into the kitchen with my mom, and together we helped my grandma finish preparing the Christmas Eve dinner.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
We have four possessions which formerly belonged to Grandma Ruth. She was schizophrenic and spent half of every year in a mental hospital; we have a sock doll she made in the institution. We have a wonderful pair of green sunglasses she wore; both of the nose pieces are broken off. My grandfather had her wedding ring made into a necklace, which he gave to my mother a few years ago. The fourth item is a large gold cross. The voice my grandmother heard in her head was the voice of god. It was no doubt the voice that told her that she needed to leave this planet.