Your SlideShare is downloading. ×
Grandma
Upcoming SlideShare
Loading in...5
×

Thanks for flagging this SlideShare!

Oops! An error has occurred.

×
Saving this for later? Get the SlideShare app to save on your phone or tablet. Read anywhere, anytime – even offline.
Text the download link to your phone
Standard text messaging rates apply

Grandma

176

Published on

It was seventeen years ago that I was born. I grew up in Lebanon not knowing my grandparents. Two of them died during the war twenty years earlier, and the other two passed away due to natural causes …

It was seventeen years ago that I was born. I grew up in Lebanon not knowing my grandparents. Two of them died during the war twenty years earlier, and the other two passed away due to natural causes when I was still a toddler. I was never certain whether to be thankful or sad that they were taken away before I could sense the true pleasure of having them in my life. I could only imagine what it would be like to sit on their laps and run my fingers over their wrinkled faces, to listen to their back-in-my-days stories, and to be stuffed with food out of love. Grandparents are said to be more tender to their grandchildren than parents are to their own kids. I wasn’t lucky enough to experience any of those.

Published in: Entertainment & Humor
0 Comments
0 Likes
Statistics
Notes
  • Be the first to comment

  • Be the first to like this

No Downloads
Views
Total Views
176
On Slideshare
0
From Embeds
0
Number of Embeds
0
Actions
Shares
0
Downloads
1
Comments
0
Likes
0
Embeds 0
No embeds

Report content
Flagged as inappropriate Flag as inappropriate
Flag as inappropriate

Select your reason for flagging this presentation as inappropriate.

Cancel
No notes for slide

Transcript

  • 1. GrandmaIt was seventeen years ago that I was born. I grew up in Lebanon not knowing mygrandparents. Two of them died during the war twenty years earlier, and the other twopassed away due to natural causes when I was still a toddler. I was never certain whetherto be thankful or sad that they were taken away before I could sense the true pleasure ofhaving them in my life. I could only imagine what it would be like to sit on their laps andrun my fingers over their wrinkled faces, to listen to their back-in-my-days stories, and tobe stuffed with food out of love. Grandparents are said to be more tender to theirgrandchildren than parents are to their own kids. I wasn’t lucky enough to experience anyof those.***It was just another Tuesday afternoon, and I was on my way back from school. Likealways, I stopped by Abu Mustafa’s small grocery market to grab my daily dose ofchocolate. Holding my Ghand our chocolate bar, I thanked him and stepped out of theshop. The sky had just started drizzling and as I looked above at the dark clouds, myvision caught an old woman sitting on her balcony, leaning backwards in her rockingchair. I had seen the woman several times before, but this time she grabbed my attention -
  • 2. the weather was turning cold and she was wearing noticeably light clothing. She had herarms crossed and her knees pulled up to her chest; she was freezing. I walked back intothe shop.“Abu Mustafa, is she okay?”He looked up sadly at the old woman.“Poor old Najat,” he sighed, “She must be having one of those trances.“She is kind of mentally sick.”“Well, shouldn’t someone snap her out of her trances or something?” I asked.“Sure,” he replied indifferently but realized I was waiting for a thoughtful answer.“But she’s got no one,” he added, “At least no one who cares.” Abu Mustafa shook hishead disapprovingly and then returned to his work.The conversation haunted me all the way home. He must have feared being in the samesituation as Najat at some point of his life. I don’t blame him; her condition is horrible.Days passed and I would steel glances at Najat’s balcony every afternoon. I saw hernearly every day, in the same position.“She has Alzheimer, dear,” Abu Mustafa explained.“She can’t even recognize her own children - that is if they ever visit. Her two sons haveabandoned her. Each has his own life now, across the city. The only good they do her ishaving hired a maid to stop by every morning, clean the house and cook some food. It’s
  • 3. very disappointing and upsetting. This must be every mother’s nightmare. So maybe hermental sickness is a blessing; she isn’t aware of the hurtful things they have done.”I stopped for a while at the side walk and stared up at Najat. I sighed. I was able to spotmarks of misery across her face. I bet she doesn’t know what’s making her so sad, but herupsetting story is surely marked in her subconscious. Or maybe she was just bored…Isnapped out of my thoughts and realized Najat had turned her attention towards me andwas staring right at me, smiling warmly. My first instinct was to look away, then, forsome reason, I felt bad, so I looked back, smiled and waved awkwardly. She waved backhappily.I spent that night thinking about Najat. She seemed like a very pleasant woman. Her sonsare at great loss for not visiting her regularly. I wondered about her grandchildren. Didthey miss their grandma? Were they like their fathers, heartless and self-centered? Ithought Najat would have made a wonderful grandma. Such a waste that she isn’t giventhe chance!Then the craziest thing occurred to me. Why don’t I stop by Najat’s house everyafternoon and hangout with her while solving my homework? No one would ever know.She’ll even forget I visited her the moment I step out the door. I can even pretend to beher granddaughter. I would finally know what having a grandma feels like – sort of – andNajat would feel joyful and loved, even if for a short period of time. The woman is oldand probably has a few more years to live, so why not let her enjoy them? If I can makesomeone happy, then why miss the chance? I made up my mind to visit Najat the nextday.I rang the doorbell. Several minutes passed.I squeezed my ear against the door, but couldn’t hear any signs of movement inside. Irang the doorbell again and knocked on the door so hard that I was worried the neighborswould suspect a robbery. I waited for a while then gave up. I began walking down the
  • 4. stairs slowly and disappointed when I heard a squeak from behind. I turned to see thedoor slowly swing open and a little white head peeking from behind.I caught my breath. This is not as easy as I imagined. I approached the door again.“Hello.”Najat narrowed her eyes. “Hello,” she uttered slowly in a weak voice, “Who are you,darling?”I froze. What if she knew I was lying? I felt awkward. I had no idea what to say.“I hope I didn’t offend you with my question,” she continued with a laugh, “I have a veryweak memory. Forgive me.”“It’s me, Salma, your granddaughter,” I giggled words returning to me.She stared blankly at me for a few moments. My heart dropped thinking she’d startscowling at me at any moment. Instead, she smiled spreading her arms out in embrace.“I’ve been anticipating your visit sweetheart!”Story by: Sherine A. ZuhudFrom: LebanonRead more short stories:http://www.shortstoriescorner.comPlease check out the E-Book Store for more fabulous books:http://www.shortstoriescorner.com/e-book-storeImage courtesy of Download “Grandmother” by graur razvan ionut FreeDigitalPhotos.net

×