grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
The Backpack
I was sixteen years old on the day that I went to visit my dying grandfather in the hospital. The only way we could tell he was alive was a machine blurting out the rhythm of my grandpa’s heartbeat. Anxious, confused, and feeling a little sick, I huddled around a cramped hospital bed. I focused on an unopened lime jello cup on the bedside tray.
By Gregory Westcott 5 years ago in Families
A Little Gratitude
“The name Fyodor means God’s gift.” Fyodor could recall the conversation between him and his grandmother with vivid detail. He remembered how pale she was as she sat up on her bed, long and wrinkly fingers sat atop each other on the faded blue blanket, another smaller knitted blanket draped over her thin shoulders, her frizzy gray hair tucked underneath an old beanie, and her tired but still kind face.
By Kelly Tran5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
The phone rang. I knew it would not be good. My Dad was on the line. As I answered the phone, my heart sank as he said... "Son, your grandfather has passed away. I am so sorry, your Pap was a good man. I know how much you loved him. Visitation will be Wednesday, then Thursday night with just family and the funeral will be on Friday. I will see you then. I love you son". "I'll be there Dad", was all I could get out as my heart broke. I hung up the phone.
By Ric Bottorf 5 years ago in Families
Dear Diary
Dear Diary Driving through the familiar streets where I grew up. It's as if time has stopped, nothing has changed, the corner store is still running, Mr. Brown's gas station hasn't changed. Park where everybody would go, and hangout. This is a small town with one main road which is considered downtown. Here in Texas not everything is bigger, especially this town. I haven't been back to this town since I left for college many years ago, I built a life in New York City, graduated from NYU and never looked back. Graduating with a degree in journalism has always been my dream. Here I was again back to the town that I left so many years ago to say goodbye to the one person that I love the most, my grandmother.
By Elle Solano5 years ago in Families
The Rosebud Urn
Grandpa always said Grandma had champagne taste on a beer budget, and he wasn't wrong. My grandparents were far from wealthy, and Grandma had an eye for the finer things. However, Grandma never let money get in her way. If she wanted something, she just worked until she made enough to buy whatever it was that had caught her eye and then went and got it. And heaven help anyone who tried to dissuade her mission, even Grandpa.
By Jason Balthazor5 years ago in Families
Stories From My Grandmother
My Grandmother was born when the cotton was being harvested, during War World II, on September 25, 1942. She was the second youngest child of 13 , children of sharecroppers. Her parents were also children of sharecroppers. These are some of her memories of her childhood.
By Shalasha Deese5 years ago in Families
No One Said Dreams Were Cheap
My first memory of my grandfather is a ridiculous one. He was upset I had left the water running in the front lawn all day. You may think “Wait a minute, but isn’t water on lawns a good thing?” Which for the record, you are correct. But a bored four year old on a hot summer day could care less about lawn care and more about making a river system within it, full of deep canals and currents strong enough to carry my marbles and army men downstream.
By Vanessa Keck5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
This morning I was woken by a phone call from an estate lawyer in Calgary. He called to notify me that my Grandmother had passed away in her sleep peacefully the night before last. He also informed me that she had named me to be the executor of her estate.
By Angela Pauline5 years ago in Families
Little Bird
The morning began with the angry cry of the alarm clock, wrenching her from a deep slumber, then the abrupt weight of her dog clambering over her, claws digging into her ribcage, as she characteristically pounced on her chest, which knocked any residual grogginess out of her: it was 5:00 A.M. She let her pup outside to disturb the pre-dawn stillness—white fur flashing against the darkness, nose to the ground, searching for any comers in the night—while she scraped together their breakfasts.
By Jerica Stark5 years ago in Families
Kiki's Last Game
The package arrived on Thursday. Not just any Thursday, but the Thursday after the storming of the Capitol. Meaning it was when too many COVID hours spent with my significant other, Jack, boiled over and our differences became, to me at least, irreconcilable. We’d made it through the election, but the QAnon Shaman was the last straw. I just hadn’t told Jack yet.
By Kim Love Stump5 years ago in Families
On Behalf of Evelyn Walters
Sarah ran the back of her forearm across her face to mop up the beading sweat. She stripped off her flannel shirt and threw it in a heap in the corner of the room, one of the few spots free of all the remaining unpacked boxes. Maybe she’d turn it into a gym. Or an art studio. Not that she really painted much these days.
By Abigail Lets5 years ago in Families
JUNKYARD GENIUS
How many of you enjoy the Wyoming wind? I am going to introduce you to a man who draws inspiration from the wind as well as items you and I might cast out: a bent fork or spoon, rusty pots and pans, a motor that doesn’t work, buckets, hard hats, or even old missile parts. For him, an idea can be sparked by any given object at any time of day or night.
By Janel Tufts5 years ago in Families
