A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate. “How can the complex working of the universe and the world around me end in such a simple catastrophe?” I wondered. I sat back and let the sun bathe me in its bright, reminiscent light. The atmosphere around me was quiet, but just a few feet away people were mourning a great life.
It was a life that some say was “lived to the longest and the fullest.” I, on the other hand, held a solid disagreement. The “longest” couldn’t yet be over, could it? Seventy-five just seemed too short when I had only shared thirteen years with this fabulously, wonderful woman. I stood up, as the loud vibrations of the church bells seem to touch my heart. I crossed the long, seemingly endless stream of soft healthy green grass to the black box, which lay just as I had left it in its own solitude. Inside of it lay the violin in which I had devoted a lot of my middle school life to.
I had spent many hours practicing on this wooden contraption. Now all of my hard work, all of my hours practicing, would go into making this one piece sound amazing, spectacular, and memorable. This wasn’t something I was doing for myself. This was something I was doing for my family, friends, and most importantly the sweet, cherished soul of my dearly departed grandmother. I wanted there to be one last remarkable token of my love for someone who had made such a large impact on my life. I knew that my grandmother had absolutely loved the fact that I play a violin.
The Essay on What Life Seems To Be Now
Why is it that people, who are treated with contempt, who get hurt, are the ones who least deserve it? Why is this happening? Is the world that cruel? Doesn't anyone know the meaning of life? Funny how people can search for books with no relation to life, for example Star Wars, Harry Potter, but ignore books hat give us meaning in life, that shows us how to treasure life. How ironic. We search for ...
She had always said that I held so much talent. “This,” I thought, “will be something that she truly would have wanted.” I opened the box and looked at the soft velvet casing. The freshly polished wood of my instrument glittered golden brown in the evening sun. I reached for it and picked it up. The usually very light instrument seemed to weigh more than I could ever remember. I walked in a straight line up the side of the church building.
I passed the graves of many of the dead as I made my way to the door. For the first time ever I took the time to notice that many peoples’ grave held no flowers. “How could someone just forget?” I contemplated. Looking around, the church itself was rather small, I noticed. It was only one story. The outside was covered with some type of mid-sixties siding, or at least that is what it seemed.
I finally made it around to the front door. This is when I realized there was a line a mile long out of the door. Many people had come from all over. I began to think how funny it is that you can go for years and years without seeing anyone, not talking to them, but as soon as they here you are dead, there they are. It seemed very ironic. I actually knew very few of the people that stood in front of me.
It was as if my grandmother had known a whole society that I knew nothing about! I was walking to the door, when a plump lady came running out of the church. She ran to my side and quickly hurried me up the brick sidewalk. We pushed our way through the line of people. When we finally made it to the second door, the large lady seemed to almost get stuck as the crowd was a little more dense in the doorway. She led me through to a small room with a piano. This was my last chance to practice before the ceremony.
A large black piano sat in the corner of the room. The chubby lady sat down with a grunt. Her gray hair was brushed back into a pony tail long enough to just touch the nape of her neck. Her glasses sat loosely on her face. She pushed them up as she began to position herself to play. With a nod I signaled her to start.
The Essay on Locked The Door Angus Read Time
In An Oldster's Mind Crowd and noise always interrupt my mind in the TV room. I desire someone to take me back to my private room. I want to be alone and think a boutmy personal things. I appreciate that a nurse helping me to go back my room. Along the hallway, I look straight forward and do nothing like a plant. What factor causes the plant to move? I turn my head as if I have seen my friend, a ...
As I began to play the lyrics ran through my head. Before I knew it I’d burst into tears. I couldn’t believe someone this important to me was actually really truly gone. Sometimes I just had to wait for things to hit me right in the face before they seem true.
That moment was when it hit me. “This was the first person that I had ever known to ever die, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.” The piano lady got up and gave me a hug. “It ” ll be time to go out soon,” she said. “You don’t want to be late!” We came out of the small practice room in to the main sanctuary. The rows were already filled with people.
There where what seemed like a hundred bouquets of flowers at the front of the room. In the middle stood a table with a bright white cloth, on top sat my grandmother’s urn. We walked to the seats that had been saved for us near the piano. My mom, dad, sister and other close family members all sat down the row. The ceremony began. When it was time for me to get up and play, I was very nervous.
I knew though, that I wasn’t nervous because I might mess up and everyone would notice. No, I only cared about one soul. I took a deep breath and began with a nod, my grandmother’s most favorite hymn. “And He walks with me And He talks with me And He tells me I am His own And the joy we share as we tarry there None other has ever known… .”.
