The Bridge-Personal Narrative

Every summer I stayed with my grandmother until school began because my parents traveled for work every summer and since I was an only child, my parents felt it was best that I stay with my grandmother. My grandmother’s name was Shirley Dixon, she was your everyday typical grandmother; she could cook very well, made the best cookies, always had a smile, gave the best hugs and always gave the best advice. Spending my summers with her was always a joy, but one of my favorite things was riding my bike across the bridge not too far away from my grandmother’s house. That bridge held a lot of memories for me, I took my first steps on that bridge, I learned how to ride a bike on that bridge, listened to great stories from my grandmother and I always …show more content…
I yelled my son's name, yelled my husbands name and I got no response, so then I proceeded to search the house. I searched the whole main floor and upstairs level and I couldn’t find them; at this point anxiety and a deep panic has set in the and the only area in the house that wasn’t searched was the basement, I walked down the stairs and smelled an awful smell, as soon as the smell hit my nose I could only wish the worst, tears started rushing down my face , I dropped to the ground and there laid my only son and husband- dead. Every day since the funeral I’ve come to this bridge to grieve.” Hearing those words come out of her mouth gave me chills, seeing the tears flow down her face made feel sorry for her more than I’ve ever felt sorry for someone in my life. I immediately started thinking of words that would try to make her feel better, but no appropriate words came to mind so I just decided to