Personal Narrative: My Dad

I was laying in my bed, staring at the swirling blue and dull white colored ceiling. I was listening to the light morning rain slide slowly down my window, while pondering over my day. Then the phone starts to ring.

"Gillian, please come down here," my mom pleads... My grandpa is dead, I choked at the thought of it...

Getting out of the black polished limousine, I grabbed my moms smooth and chilled hand. I was holding a bouquet of lightly colored flowers, rapped in shiny gold on the sides in my other hand. The cold November breeze was whistling through my long, dark hair. Tiny sparkling snowflakes fall quietly on the grass, the first snow of the season. We start up to the peaceful and quiet cemetery, I sit down in between my mom and dad as we wait. …show more content…
I hear a car door slam shut. Loud heavy footsteps, synchronized together. Four giant men in black smooth suits come in while carrying my grandpa in the large, dusty casket. The casket gold bolts attached to the sides, shimmering in the cold. As they placed the casket on the round and flat table, my dad began to tear up. I've never seen my dad cry before. It hurts, like a thousand knives coming from every direction. My dad goes up there with his mom and older sister to say a few words, but the words seem to last for long and very cruel hours. The four giant men slowly bend down and pick up my grandpa, then start to lower him into the dark, gloomy grave. I begin breathing heavily, like a dog on a hot summer day. They placed my grandpa on the soggy dirt, I can barely see him now. "Will we ever get to come and visit grandpa again?" I whisper quickly to my mom, while noticing slight panic in my