☾---------------------------------------------------------------------☽ I love her soo much!! (I may add more art later if I have time) ☾---------------------------------------------------------------------☽ ~Name: Dorothy Edwards (A.K.A. Grandma) ~Gender: Female ~Age: 99 years young ~Birthday: 06-11-1923 ~Likes: Baking cookies, knitting, spending time with the grandkids, cleaning, crossword puzzles, Louis Armstrong ~Dislikes: Remembering the war ~Personality: She's loving to her family and snarky to just about everyone else. She's very sarcastic and can be rather forgetful at times. ☾------------------------TW: War, Death------------------------☽ ~Story: Although it's been years since the last time I visited Grandma's house, it still feels like it was yesterday. I can still feel the heat from the roaring fireplace, still hear the chiming of the old cuckoo clock, still smell the lingering scent of baking cookies wafting up from the kitchen. I was young when I last saw Grandma, maybe four or five years old. It was winter then. My brother and I spent hours in Grandma's backyard, playing, wrestling, and sledding through the fresh snow until our cheeks were rosy and our lips were blue. We then raced to the backdoor, where we were met by a plate of warm Macadamia nut cookies and an even warmer hug from Grandma. We flung off our heavy coats and followed her like little ducklings into the living room, munching on our cookies as we went. Grandma carefully lowered herself onto her Lazy Boy as my brother and I plopped ourselves down on the floor. My parents, who had been waiting for us, looked up from their newspapers and smiled. It was time for one of Grandma's stories. Grandma cleared her throat. "Back in my day...," she started as the radio creaked next to her. As Grandma crafted her story, images floated through my head; images of a young girl growing up during the depression, images of a handsome sailor, images of war. Grandma was eighteen when the war began, and she did everything she could to support her country. She took up a job at a steel mill, working hard each day, hoping that the young sailor she had met months prior would return home. While Grandma went to work, Grandpa was at Midway; as she slaved over a hot smelter, he was at Iwo Jima; and as she rested in the evening, he was at Okinawa. Eventually, the young sailor returned home, and the two married and had a son. Grandma paused and gave a sorrowful glance at the portrait of Grandpa that sat on the table next to her, then continued with her story. The three of them lived happily together for some time, but soon war was on the horizon again. Again Grandpa left to fight, but this time, instead of there being a happy reunion, he returned home in a box. Grandma did her best to raise her son on her own, working nightshifts and holidays, but in the end, everything paid off. Grandma told the story of her life every time we visited her, but each time my brother and I would listen to her as if it was the very first time, soaking up every little detail. It's been a long time since we lost Grandma, and her face has slowly faded from my memory, but her house, and the stories she told inside it, will always remain. ☾---------------------------------------------------------------------☽ Design: Art: Story: Song: What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong ☾---------------------------------------------------------------------☽ I can't draw hands lol ☾---------------------------------------------------------------------☽
