Personal Narrative: My Great Grandfather

In January of 2012 my great grandmother, Charlena Ware, died. Everybody in my family was impacted by her passing, even my extended family. Her funeral was a family reunion of sorts. Although many members of my family were affected greatly by her passing, her death was the worst event in my life that I can remember. Before her passing, my great grandfather, Horace Ware, was the first to pass. From what my family tells me his death was the same caliber of tragedy as my grandmother’s. And after that, my grandmother on my dad’s side and my first dog died. However, my great grandmother’s death affected me the most out of any of those. In part because of my age, and in part because of the many memories I had of her.

Some of my earliest memories
Since I was a little kid she had been a constant in my life. Every holiday, every family reunion, every birthday, she would always be present. At family reunions, she would be engaged in conversation at the daily breakfasts and dinners, at every birthday party she would be there when the presents were opened and the cake was eaten. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, she would always bring her famous deviled eggs and would be playing with the children. Near the end she would almost always be asleep and covered in blankets on the couch, until her family needed her. But perhaps the strongest memory I have of her was only between us. Our family was visiting Stillwater for the day, for what reason I can’t remember. Being young at the time I was always excited to have a ride in my grandparents’ van, especially if she was there. We were sitting in the very back, and she was talking to me about something which I only now see the profoundness of: her own mortality. She told me she wanted to live to see me graduate high school, a dream which she wouldn’t live to see to fruition. In telling me this I realize now that she was confiding in me her fear of death, a fear which at the time I had no concept