Descriptive Essay

Descriptive Portrait: My Grandmother When I picture my grandmother, I envision shiny grey hair, bright blue eyes, and the softest hands I have every felt. She is 94 years old and has 12 children. Virginia Irene Dill has raised many children, and that makes her the strongest person I know. When I walk through the door of her 75 year old home, I think of all the pain and joy my grandmother went through there. After so many years, our time together was not quite the same as it used to be since ten years ago when she started to fall ill due to old age. Despite the fact that her body does not allow her to do as much as she used to, I still remember her and the times we had together. Listening to the wonders of the world and the changes that have occurred, I have enjoyed hearing her stories. I enjoy most learning about my aunts’ and uncles’ crazy past. Our time together is special and the bond we hold is sacred. She holds the key to my history and is an example that a little hard work and a whole lot of patience is needed to make it in life. My grandmother’s small soft hands always surprise me. When I think of all the hard work that she had done including cooking, cleaning, and taking care of all her children, I cannot believe her hands could be kept so soft and manicured. She always wears a ring that my father bought her and she always tells me the story of when she received the ring The bright, shiny, silver ring holds an outer ring with jet black beads surrounded by sharp red beads, circled below with a turquoise stone, and pearly speckles. As I stand next to her, I feel like a giant. She is only five feet tall and is such a small, sweet lady. When I hug her, I feel safe and warm inside. While with her, I feel happy that she is a part of me She is a strong, sweet, and patient woman, and knowing this, it makes me happy to know that I have the potential to be like her. Her and I sit in her living next to the warm wood stove and have long talks about the past. We talk about my father and my grandfather, whom I never had the chance to meet. I always enjoy learning about my past, but the stories about my aunts and uncles and the mischievous things they did were always exciting to me. These stories always made me laugh like a young child when I hear them. Now ill due to old age, her face looks different. She is ghostly pale and calm as a cold winter breeze. I miss her smile and touch. Her hands and body are not as strong as they used to be, and most of the time, she looks tired. The smell of her oatmeal cookies no longer fills the room when I go to her house. The smell of fresh lotion scent has diminished, but most of all, I miss the long talks and warm hugs. I will always remember my grandmother and the impression she has made in my life.