Just
fine, not really, it is like everything has gone. I’m going to snap any moment. Why did he go? No wait, why did no one tell me how he had
the stroke? If he was here right now, in
this room, he would give me a big hug and say “Good on you, Chickadee.” That’s my Grandpa, that’s him.
WRITERS' WINDOW
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Wednesday, 2 October 2013
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
My grandpa | Sylvie Blake O'Brien
My grandpa talks quietly like a sea shell. He also calls me chickadee a lot.
He has white hair, brownish trousers, and a brown and white checked t-shirt.
At dinner time he always says, “Now, what haven’t I got?!” Everyone laughs at it quietly. Grandpa always says things about the pink couch. He is always in the kitchen, interested in what Grandma is making. You can tell when he’s grumpy because he sits down with a huff on the pink couch.
My grandpa is like a snail, walking and then stopping to sit down. He enters the room softly, putting each footstep on the ground carefully. When I am near him I feel safe and warm in side.
When he died his last sentence was, “Good girl, Sylvie.”
He has white hair, brownish trousers, and a brown and white checked t-shirt.
At dinner time he always says, “Now, what haven’t I got?!” Everyone laughs at it quietly. Grandpa always says things about the pink couch. He is always in the kitchen, interested in what Grandma is making. You can tell when he’s grumpy because he sits down with a huff on the pink couch.
My grandpa is like a snail, walking and then stopping to sit down. He enters the room softly, putting each footstep on the ground carefully. When I am near him I feel safe and warm in side.
When he died his last sentence was, “Good girl, Sylvie.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)