Grandma's Coming to Town

January 11, 2012
By Caroline Sulick BRONZE, Wilmington, Massachusetts
Caroline Sulick BRONZE, Wilmington, Massachusetts
1 article 0 photos 1 comment

It was winter break. Snow piled upon my front lawn as my dad pushed his snow blower up the driveway trick-or-treaters are too lazy to even dare approach. My mother was out of the house, in the hospital visiting my grandfather.
It wasn’t long before I saw her gliding up the driveway with someone in the passenger seat .I popped my head out of the window to get a better look. Did she bring anybody with her? No, I’m pretty sure she went by herself, though she did ask if I wanted to tag along. Something about the smells of hospitals burns the hairs inside my nostrils. As my mother pulled up and brought the car to a stop she exits the vehicle and proceeds to open the passenger door. As she pulled open the door I began to see dry, shriveled up feet in powder blue wedge sandals. Then, I knew it was my grandmother. Her bright red hair brought fire to the snow and she could barely stay on her feet as she waddled like a penguin over the patches of ice. She linked arms with my mom and walked to the stair case with the poise of an old fashioned movie star. As she approached the first step Charlotte, my sister, pasted a fake smile upon her face as she made her way up the stairs as did I.

My mother, who was behind my grandmother, rolled her eyes and mouthed to my sister and I to be sweet to one another. She entered the house expressionless; almost with a scowl of disapproval.
“Hey girls,” greeted my mother. That wasn’t just any old friendly “hey”, more like an “I don’t want you guys to flip out on me” kind of “hey”.
“Well you know how Papa is in the hospital,” her voice chocked, “well your grandmother doesn’t want to be all alone in her house so she’s going to to stay here for a couple of days,, until Papa gets well again.”
Charlotte and I were awe struck. What were we supposed to say? How were we supposed to respond? As soon as she moved in, we knew she wouldn’t be moving out. She certainly had no trouble making herself comfortable. She took the expression ‘make yourself at home’ too literally. Boxes filled both her room and the living room. We appeared to be one of the house holds on “Hoarding: Buried Alive”. The clutter and disorganization of my home caused my world to crumble down around me. I could hardly even sleep anymore. My grandmother wasn’t going anywhere and I knew that for certain. She spent every day at home, cleaning. I have never in my life seen something quite as shiny as my family’s hardwood floors. And although she strained our relationships with one another she certainly kept our home in good condition.
Overtime, I grew closer to my grandmother. She loved me and it showed. I was sweet to her and she was sweet to me. Sure, there were times that I wanted to yell a t her for doing something not so intelligent, but she was my grandmother and she taught me tolerance and patience through that. About a year later my grandfather passed away, though my grandmother was devastated she knew my family was there and that she could stay with us. My grandmother is a childlike, sandal in the winter wearing, crazy cleaning woman. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!