He was a man of no older than 67, but looked of only early 50s. Known by family and acquaintances alike, he was the kindest soul. People used to say that he was unlike any other; a true gentleman of his generation. Always with a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye, and the eagerness to lend a helping hand, no one could dispute such a statement. But that day, he was different. No smile, no twinkle, no words. On that day, his youthful looks deceived him; for the lines on his face were eminent from the years of life consumed by the cigarettes he loved so much. Sad it was for him to realize that they now were -- as they had always been – his executioner, as they had come to claim their victim after decades of ceaseless demise.
His clothes controverted those who surrounded him. The warm colors of their sweaters, ruffled tops, and leg warmers, along with their poufy hair, only held back by the thick, elastic band that encircled their heads, contradicted the drab, off-white color of the hospital gown and his ice-cold head, bare from the inability to produce any locks of hair for the past several months.
On this day, the cancer would take him.
His youngest daughter, my mother and nearly pregnant with my older sister, slowly sauntered over to the crib-like bed. Sitting next to what appeared to be a lifeless body, she placed her warm hand on his weakening heart, searching for a beat, a pulse, any indication that he was wasn’t yet gone. Immediately, he fixed his head to face his daughter and, with all his strength, clutched her hand in his. Eyes closed, mouth opened, he took his last breath – and that was it; that was the end of him.
Paul McIntyre, my grandfather, died that day, along with any hopes of him welcoming the births of his two youngest granddaughters. He would not attend our birthday parties, or be there for a shoulder to cry on, nor to continuously inform my sister and me about how life was in the good-old-days. Due to this very moment, now more than two decades ago, I have no choice but to live in my imagination and make-believe stories that never occurred in order to feel his presence and to understand what, now, only photographs depict.
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I really enjoy reading your blog it was really warm hearted. The description you utilized to describe your grandpa was very sincere and honest. The various descriptions provided help me picture the image of your grandpa and all his different characteristics which made him unique. I liked how you transitioned the theme of the paragraph with “But that day, he was different.” that sentence allows the reader to know that something might occur. Your blog was really intriguing and keep me interested the entire time. You did a really good job capturing that event we had to imagine as the assignment said. Your ending was really unique; I really liked how you summed up your point. Nice touch!
ReplyDeleteWow. This blog was definintely amazing. Even though you might not have been there your description of him, of the scenery, of everything, made it feel so real and alive, which contrasted with the fact that you were writing about death. I enjoyed the ending as well, just like Tanya and liked how even though you were describing a very tragic scene you managed to keep everything within a nice realm of unhappiness. You didn't come off as heartless, but you didn't go overly depressed either. Very great blog.
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