Wednesday, March 27, 2019

A Change of Heart Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

A Change of HeartStepping through the revolving methamphetamine doors of the hospital felt equivalent entering a completely variant world. With my arms crossed over my chest, I followed my parents though the never-ending, eggshell innocence hallways. My nostrils burned from the fumes of cleaners and sterility. Lovely paintings and luscious plants filled the walkways, laborious to mask the hollow, empty feeling that most visitors felt. We passed two types of people along the way to our destination the kind that strolled by while flashing every adept big, jovial pull a faces, and the people who kept their gaze straight ahead ignoring your mere beingness I preferred the latter. I did not fit in this place. This was a place for the sick, a place where people went to die. My grandpa did not belong here. We continued walking as my thoughts slipped away to a more loving time in my life.I pictured our family tradition of traveling to my grandparents hearth every Sunday afternoon. Their quaint little home, white washed with handle blue shutters welcomed any stranger and had a faint honeysuckle redolence that soothed the weariest of souls. We ate lunch together with my grandfather and grandmother sitting like kings and queens at opposite ends of the table. Then everyone gathered in the family agency and spent the late afternoon playing games and catching up on the big stock-stillts of the week. My grandfather spent his time playing with each grandchild one at a time so we would feel special. Anyone could tell that he loved his job as a grandparent. His eyes twinkled with delight and his smile never faded as he spent time with us. He loved throwing us up in the air with his powerful arms, until we squealed with delight as our stomachs flew above our heads. ... ... take a step forward. The situation glimmered with a stream of hope. Reaching his hand out to me, I edged even closer and placed my hand atop his. At that moment, I knew that everyth ing would crease out okay. My grandfather had changed bodilyly but not mentally. I necessary his smile to assure me of that. A calming feeling came over me as I walked through the revolving doors and out of the hospital into the bright sunshine. Removing the 200 pounds of weigh that sat on my heart and leaving behind the massive building which housed the source of my troubles felt welcoming. I walked away from the situation knowing that my grandfathers record or love for me did not change. However, my attitude shifted from looking at my grandfather as not being acceptable, to understanding that the only thing that had changed was his physical appearance he was still the same.

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