I recollect the many wonderful memories of my grandfather, though they are distant. Whenever I need to find happiness, I go to a place in my soul where I find my Mamu-G still alive. Mamu-G didn't speak English. In my world, English was all I knew; which meant our relationship was based on expressions of love and faulty attempts to convey ourselves verbally. He always hoped to find someone who spoke his mother tongue, Urdu. He raised his children to speak Urdu, and hoped his grandchildren would also be able to connect to the family through language. However, whenever I tried to speak these unnatural words, they come out poorly.
As a teenager, Mamu-G and I had broken, inaccurate conversations between us which consisted of pathetic attempts to speak each other's language. Only a few familiar words would crumble the thick wall that divided us. Whenever I visited him I would murmur a dainty, "As-Salaam-Alaikum" with a fragile "Hello" as his only reply, and then, swiftly walk away before my shame from the inability to understand affected me further. Despite this, I was oblivious to many things that I had in common with Mamu-G and we were so unaware of the similarities we shared. We were both fascinated by soldiery since he served in the military as a young adult. This was the perfect stepping stone to allow our two differing generations to connect, and let our relationship grow. However, language was still our problem. He would tell me of his war stories and struggles with a mix of Urdu and broken English, "Whenever I felt I was about to the breath, hear, or see, for the very last time, I would always think of how much your grandmother and mother needed me back at home, and this gave me strength to continue on." As the language barrier persisted, we unintentionally created our own unique method of communication- a series of gestures, friendly smiles, and showing me memorabilia from his time in the war.
I could not believe my grandfather was gone. My relationship with my grandfather was unique. ... There was only one question floating in my head: "Why my grandfather, why?" ... Memories were all I had left from my grandfather. ... My memory went back to the so happy days and lame arguments I shared with my grandfather. ...
The gruff voice, the vanilla flavored cigar smoke, the laugh always resulting in a hacking cough; these were the distinct memories of my grandfather. ... No matter how well I did in school or how many sports teams I captained, he never once acknowledged my accomplishments. ... " As his days dwindled down my visits to the hospital increased, many times not even seeing him, merely to help my grandmother cope or drive other family members. ... Thus the Super Bowl was upon us, an event my grandfather hadn't missed in his lifetime. ... This, I knew, was the last straw for my grandfather and h...
In this biography Baker uses water based imagery in "For my father, the rivers have not thawed, until now, when his words break out from their glacial silence, releasing a torrent whose flow runs backwards into his darkest nights " to effectively communicate the horrors hidden within Baker's father Yossl and the damage memories can still inflict so many years after the event. ... The beginning of the film shows a close up shot of a faded photograph of Jonathan's grandfather and his first wife, Augustine. ... Alex describes his grandfather's work as, "It is a strange employment...
As they entered the hospital, my grandfather felt very dizzy. ... This was the case for my grandfather. ... My grandfather was unconscious the whole time. ... My grandfather's brain was injured irreversibly. ... Bryn Mawr brought my grandfather back. ...
One in particular though was my grandfather. ... Bargaining wasn't a big stage for me in my grandfather's death. ... The memories we had I started to think about and telling myself that "at least" I had those memories. ... My next step in the death of my grandfather was depression. ... I say nine to twelve because my memory doesn't go back further than that. ...
I've closed off my conscious memory unconsciously so I wouldn't have to deal with the painful remembrance of how deeply that night affected me. ... This means at sometime in the future I will be able to tap into these repressed memories and start to understand why I am so angry when I think about memories that I can't even remember. ... My Father tells me my grandfather was trying to pick a fight with him that night so my father would become angry and physical so my grandfather could have the police come and put him in jail. ... My mother tells the story that my father was be...
As time went by my memories of Mexico faded and ten years of my life went by without going back to Mexico. ... Both my uncle and my grandfather told me the story of when my grandpa first bought his ranch. ... The first thing that came to my mind when I saw the field was my grandfather's story. ... My grandfather discovered it a very long time ago. ... Since I came to this country in a very young age, my memories of Mexico faded. ...
My fondest childhood memory out of many would probably be Christmas eve night at my Aunt Vicky's house. ... My grandfather always sat at one head and my Aunt on the other. ... My childhood was filled with love, family, and tons of amazing memories. ... My best friend growing up was my cousin Melissa and 20 years later, remains. ... Half of my family stopped speaking to each other, and I lost contact with most of my cousins. ...
As we were driving home, I asked my grandfather if he was okay. ... My grandfather had been given up to one year to live. ... My grandfather experienced this stage. ... My grandfather passed away on February 19, 2000. ... The memories of my grandfather will be with me to cherish forever. ...
