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How to Write Your Grandmother's Biography

Grandmother Biography

Would you like to discover and preserve your grandmother's lifetime experiences? A great approach in honoring an extraordinary woman who impacted your life significantly is writing about her journey.

Here, we present a detailed guideline on creating an authentic biography of your grandmother, which can touch hearts for many ages. Let's begin!

Step 1: Gather Information and Memories

A tender depiction of your cherished grandma commences by piecing together all the anecdotes and information at hand about her life journey. Engage family members who knew her closely, asking them for any unique perspectives they have on what shaped her character over time. For a more personal touch, consider scheduling a conversation with grandma herself so that she can share firsthand accounts that only she could know.

Interview Your Grandmother

When crafting a heartfelt biography of your grandmother , initiating with an interview is vital. The inquiries you pose ought to be open-ended so that she feels comfortable sharing memories and stories from different phases of her existence; from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood. It's recommended that you jot down detailed notes or even record the conversation to guarantee that nothing important is overlooked.

For exemple :

  • Where were you born, and when?
  • Tell me about your youth. What are some of your best memories? And the worst?
  • Who has most influenced your life?
  • What was your job? Why did you choose it?
  • What was the happiest time in your life?
  • Were there moments when you weren't sure you could make it?
  • How did you meet Grandfather?
  • What were your passions when you were my age?

By focusing on different phases of her life, you'll be able to create a comprehensive biography that truly captures who she is as a person. Plus, spending time with your grandmother can be a wonderful way to bond while learning more about each other.

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Ask Family Members for Input

To craft a truly comprehensive biography that authentically captures her essence, consider focusing on various phases of your grandmother's life . Spending time with her can also be an enriching opportunity to strengthen bonds while gaining a deeper understanding of each other.

Here are some specific questions you can ask them:

  • What was their favorite memory of her?
  • Did she have any hobbies or interests?
  • What were her proudest accomplishments?
  • Was there a particular quote or saying she often used?

By inquiring about these aspects and others, you will create a complete portrayal of your grandmother's personality and what made her exceptional to those in her surroundings. Keep in mind that the objective isn't solely to gather facts but also to pay tribute to the heritage she bestowed upon future generations within the family.

Collect Photos and Documents

If you strive to compose an earnest biography of your grandmother, then it's imperative to accumulate relevant photos and documents that reveal her tale convincingly. Given below are a few suggestions to help you source the appropriate materials:

  • Gather old photographs of your grandmother at different ages. These can show how she changed over time and provide insights into her personality.
  • “Scrapbook” relevant documents such as certificates, awards, and newspaper clippings into a notebook for easy reference. This can include anything from marriage licenses to articles about her community involvement.
  • Consider including mementos like handwritten letters or recipes. These personal touches can help bring your grandmother’s story to life.

By consolidating these heirlooms within a singular location, you amass a wealth of resources for drafting your grandmother's memoirs whilst preserving her legacy. This endeavor also enhances the convenience with which her story can be relayed to extended family members without direct means to all aforementioned memorabilia.

Step 2: Organize Your Information

Assembling relevant insights into your grandmother’s amazing journey through life requires careful planning from the onset of writing her memoirs. The best place to start is by developing a detailed timeline which chronicles key events throughout different stages of her lifespan.

To help streamline this description further organize these moments int groups highlighting distinct features such as family dynamics, academic progression or extracurricular activities accomplished throughout retirement years or honing new talents.

Taking these necessary steps ensures that when it comes time to recount memories in depth creating an insightful piece on life lived becomes easier while also acknowledging significant aspects across (name)'s incredible journey.

Create a Timeline

Start by assembling crucial dates and incidents that are representative of your grandmother's remarkable journey through life.

This encompasses aspects such as birthplace, educational background; marital status; as well as some noteworthy experiences she went through over time. After amassing all necessary information, sort them chronologically on a visually appealing timeline which would give an organized structure narrating the story of this amazing lady.

Crafting a timeline for your grandmother deserves careful consideration of the historical events that shaped her life. Incorporating these crucial moments adds texture and perspective to her unique story while highlighting how she experienced key points in history. Blending personal milestones with global happenings creates an engaging and insightful timeline - one that becomes a cherished memento of familial heritage.

Group Information into Themes

Crafting a touching and well-written biography of your grandmother includes identifying the themes or patterns that have defined her life. As such, it's suggested to group the details according to these patterns- family, career milestones, hobbies and achievements- which allows for an organized flow.

Adding stories or quotes from relatives who match up with each pattern will breathe life into the telling of her story.

If making sense of your grandmother's life experiences is the goal, then dividing them into specific categories can provide clarity for both you and your readers. By organizing similar events or moments under relevant themes, the overall narrative becomes more coherent and meaningful.

A prime example would be capturing all of grandma's academic achievements in one group- this helps paint an impressive picture of her intellectual growth throughout the years. Plus, revealing how she balanced work and family responsibilities amplifies her resilience and dedication- attribute which are sure to capture reader admiration.

Step 3: Write the Biography

Choose a narrative style.

Writing a biography about your cherished grandmother demands that you adopt an appropriate narrative style that speaks volumes about her personality and story. From early onset, establish the tone of the biography; whether solemn or jocular based on what most suits her essence.

Consider employing either a chronological or thematic approach depending on which specific areas of your grandmother's journey deserve highlighting. Moreover, weaving descriptive language across all aspects of narration infuses readers with a sense of stepping into her world where they become critical participants in unraveling every detail skillfully unveiled before them.

Include Quotes and Anecdotes

Fetching quotes and anecdotes from individuals who knew your grandma best (family members et al.) injects life into how she is portrayed while serving as secondary evidence backing up descriptions relaying core character attributes within an engaging storyline that showcases both strengths and quirkiness; revisions are crucial towards achieving streamlined flow devoid of any hiccups that would otherwise detract from reader immersion - this is critical if you seek to share with people who may not have directly encountered such an exceptional woman in their lives.

Edit and Revise

Crafting an authentic biography dedicated to your grandmother requires devoted attention to the editing and revising process. A well-crafted final draft will pay tribute to her legacy while also being effortlessly readable. Here are some pointers for refining your work:

  • Take breaks between writing sessions for fresh perspective
  • Read aloud to catch errors in flow or sentence structure
  • Have someone else read it over for feedback

By following these simple steps, you can ensure that your grandmother's story is told accurately and beautifully. Don't be afraid to take the time necessary for editing - every word counts when crafting such an important piece!

Step 4: Share the Biography

Once you've completed your grandmother's biography, it's time to share it with others. You can choose to print a physical copy or share the digital version with family . Inviting loved ones to read about your grandmother's life will help strengthen connections and keep her memory alive.

If you're proud of the final product, consider publishing the biography for a wider audience. There are many options available today, from self-publishing platforms like Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing to traditional publishers who specialize in memoirs and biographies. Sharing your grandmother's story can inspire others to reflect on their own family histories and deepen their appreciation for those who came before them.

Conclusively, penning down an account shedding light on your grandma’s journey can prove to be an immensely satisfying project that holds tremendous significance in recognizing her life’s achievements.

By following these easy-to-follow guidelines, you have the ability to produce a commemoration that celebrates not only your grandmother but also ignites thoughtful introspection into appreciating your family's ancestry.

This is also an opportunity, don't forget, to spend precious time with your grandmother. Several hours to share, have fun, laugh, and together create a valuable gift for the entire family

🤩 You can also use life-story.ai to easily write your grandmother's biography. "

👉 try it for free, don't wait to preserve your family's memories.

Telling your story in a book has never been so quick and easy.

Home — Essay Samples — Life — Grandmother — My Grandmother: A Beacon of Wisdom and Inspiration

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My Grandmother: a Beacon of Wisdom and Inspiration

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Published: Aug 31, 2023

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My Grandmother's Life: Grandma, I Want to Know Everything About You - Give to Your Grandmother to Fill in with Her Memories and Return to You as a Keepsake (Volume 4) (Creative Keepsakes, 4)

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My Grandmother's Life: Grandma, I Want to Know Everything About You - Give to Your Grandmother to Fill in with Her Memories and Return to You as a Keepsake (Volume 4) (Creative Keepsakes, 4) Paperback – December 15, 2020

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3,001 Questions All About Me, 3,001 Would You Rather Questions, 3,001 This or That Questions, 301 Things to Draw, 301 Writing Ideas, Anti-Anxiety Journal, Complete the Drawing, Create a Poem, Create a Story, Create Comics: A Sketchbook, Design & Destroy, Forever Friends, Gratitude Journal, Inner Me, Inspired by Prayer, Internet Password Book, Mom & Me, My Family Story, My Father's Life, My Grandfather's Life, My Life Story, My Mother's Life, Our Love Story, Sermon Notes, Sketch - Large Black, Sketch - Large Kraft , Sketch - Medium Black, Sketch - Medium Kraft, This is Me, Write - Medium Black, Write - Medium Black

  • Part of series Creative Keepsakes journals
  • Print length 204 pages
  • Language English
  • Publisher Chartwell Books
  • Publication date December 15, 2020
  • Dimensions 6.05 x 0.85 x 8.4 inches
  • ISBN-10 0785839097
  • ISBN-13 978-0785839095
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Grandma's Story: A Memory and Keepsake Journal for My Family (Grandparents Keepsake Memory Journal Series)

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Give to your grandmother to fill in with her memories and return to you as a keepsake.

Give to Your Grandmother to Fill in with Her Memories and Return to You as a Keepsake

Creative Keepsakes

With so much of our lives and contact going digital, the Creative Keepsakes journals offer an intimate way to nurture your connection with yourself and the people around you. An entertaining way to get off your screen, these guided and free-form journals are great for writers and artists alike. Each journal offers content around a different theme, including silly prompts for a laugh, random yet thoughtful questions, inspiration for art and composition, interactive prompts to learn about your heritage, and blank interiors on high-quality paper stock to use as your creative canvas. Beautifully designed and full of mindful prompts, channel your inspiration as you put pen (or pencil, or marker, or crayon!) to paper to learn more about yourself, your talents, and the people you love.

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  • Publisher ‏ : ‎ Chartwell Books (December 15, 2020)
  • Language ‏ : ‎ English
  • Paperback ‏ : ‎ 204 pages
  • ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0785839097
  • ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0785839095
  • Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 14.7 ounces
  • Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6.05 x 0.85 x 8.4 inches
  • #193 in Reference & Collections of Biographies
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The Two Most Important Life Lessons My Grandma Taught Me

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Loving, gentle, brave, spiritual, spicy, funny, and resilient — those are just a few words that describe my biggest supporter and the backbone of my family, my grandma. In my experience, in the black community, grandmas tend to hold a very strong position in their family's lives and unselfishly serve as being the "lifeline." They possess the knowledge and wisdom of a world we have not yet experienced and, in many cases, they carry us through this journey by teaching us the importance of heritage, tradition , self-worth, and togetherness. Ina May, my grandma, whom we all call Grandmumsy, has taught me many things that are bigger than material possession; instead they are traditions that were passed down to me in the form of life lessons. These two will be with me forever.

Honor Nature

Grandmumsy hails from St. Catherine, Jamaica, which is considered the country, the bush. Having been raised among chickens, goats, roosters, cows, and more, I'd say she knows a thing or two about appreciating animals and trees and honoring the planet entirely. Visiting the country was not something I liked as a kid, but, my goodness, do I yearn to be there right now to hear the endless stories about her childhood, how she would sing to the plants and watch them flourish. She always embedded in my brain that "nature is the ultimate healer, and when you nurture it, it will always be there to honor you back."

Plants and herbs were always in full stock at her home ( aloe vera has always been one of her favorites), and her love for nature was the catalyst for my holistic upbringing. She's the source of why I still keep fresh herbs and plants in my home and the true inspiration behind my decision to follow my heart and create a holistic skincare business. Honoring nature is a tradition she passed on to me and I vow to pass on to many generations to come. Nature is our medicine, our lifeline. When we honor it, it honors us.

Family Comes First

My Grandmumsy made sure I understood the importance of family . She left her beautiful homeland in 1969, at the age of 23, separating from her children and family to come to the U.S. for opportunity. That experience can be traumatic, but not for her. The hopefulness of bettering the lives of her lineage far exceeded her fears.

Moving to the U.S. alone truly made her value the strength and power in cohesiveness. Family was the most important thing to her then, and it still is today. Since birth, I can remember spending every holiday , birthday celebration , and Sunday dinner at her house. Not a weekend went by without a night spent together. The unbreakable bond she instilled in me molded how I navigate life today. The lesson: "We cannot grow without togetherness, as this journey is not meant to be traveled alone." Family, either by blood or chosen, can help you through the roughest and toughest times. Find your tribe, dwell in them, and watch what you can accomplish.

Ina May is the epitome of grace, and to say I am lucky to have her blood pulsing through my veins is an understatement. She's taught me what it is to be understanding, kind, resilient, assertive, spicy, and irie; let life flow in the way it's supposed to. She has taught me to be assertive in what I want but refrain from controlling the outcome. The traditions I've been brought up with have been nothing short of gems. Wisdom and love will guide you, nature will honor you, your family and tribe will hold you, and your lineage will be there to carry those traditions on for generations to come.

Traditions are what connect us — both to heritage and to the future. Alongside Clorox® , we're celebrating what makes every family unique.

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Helping get your ideas to the world., writing my grandmother’s biography.

I just finished writing a biography of my grandmother, a little over a year after she passed away. A link to the book, in PDF form, is here:  The Life of Hazel Arlene Eby

I am grateful for the gift of her life and the chance to tell her story to others. It’s a quiet story, not filled with action and danger, but filled with peace and love and home.

I am also grateful for the many people without whom this never would have happened: Joanna Levy, my third grade teacher; Helen Eby, my mom; Daniel Eby, my brother; Lawrence Eby, my great-uncle; and Ann Disher, my sister-in-law and final editor.

Joanna Levy:  When I was just eight years old, my class wrote biographies of people in a local nursing home. I, Kyla, and Kjell were assigned a woman named Pat, who loved reading books and going to the beach. We titled her biography “The Library First,” and our teacher, Joanna Levy, printed off copies for each of us, the subjects of our biographies, and their loved ones.

Helen Eby:  The following summer, when we went to visit my grandmother on the other side of the country, I took a tape recorder and the list of questions my teacher had used. I interviewed my grandmother with them, and she finished up the questions after we left to go back home. After we got the tape in the mail, my mom, Helen Eby, transcribed the interview and I forgot about it for about six years.

Eventually, with much encouragement from my mother, I wrote up a biography from the interview. I gave it to my grandmother for Mother’s Day, and she sent copies to each of my cousins.

Helen, Daniel, and Lawrence Eby:  As my grandmother neared the end of her life, I looked at the biography again. It was missing a good chunk of her life, and it was not up to my standards for good writing anymore, but I wanted to make it better.

I wanted to add the intervening years, revise the format and general writing quality, and make it available to people who visited and cared for my grandmother. This was particularly helpful as she had mostly lost the ability to communicate, and her visitors had few opportunities to learn a little more about what lay under the surface of her quiet demeanor. They also needed something to do when they visited, and reading her story was the perfect solution.

My mother and brother, Helen and Daniel Eby, helped a lot with the editing at this stage.

My great-uncle Lawrence Eby helped flesh out an appendix about my grandfather, who had died young and few of us had met, so we could preserve his story as well.

Ann Disher:  The version here is the final version. I did one last stage of revisions and asked my sister-in-law Ann Disher (an English teacher) to do the last touch-up. I hope that it can spread the blessings even farther and bring joy to the world.

I feel blessed to be able to share my grandmother’s story with the world. It is wonderful to see how this short book has touched my cousins, my immediate family, my grandmother’s many friends, and the nurses and volunteers who cared for my grandmother near the end, and myself.

This has been a labor of love, and I hope I can work on more biographies in the future for my own family and for others.

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Biography Of My Grandmother

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My grandmother’s name was Alice and she was born in the small town of Columbus, Ohio in the late 1930s. She was the youngest in a family of seven children, and her parents were hardworking farmers who instilled in her a strong work ethic and a passion for learning. She was an incredibly intelligent woman with a knack for problem-solving, and she soon became a leader in her community.

Grandma Alice attended college and eventually graduated with a degree in accounting. She went on to work for the government and eventually retired from the Department of Defense. She was a loving wife to my grandfather and a devoted mother to her children.

Grandma Alice was an incredibly kind, generous woman with a big heart and a great sense of humor. She was always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need and was a true believer in the power of education. She was a strong advocate for women’s rights and often shared her experiences in the workplace.

Grandma Alice was an inspiration to all who knew her, and she will be dearly missed.

My grandmother was born in the small town of Pune, India in 1925. She was the youngest of two children, and the only daughter of her parents. Despite being born into a traditional Indian family, my grandmother was determined to break the mold and make a name for herself. She was a bright and ambitious student who excelled in her studies. She went on to earn her bachelor’s degree in English Literature in 1950, becoming one of the few women to do so at the time. Her determination and ambition led her to become a teacher in a rural school, where she taught for nearly two decades. During this time, my grandmother also became a strong advocate for women’s rights, fighting for equal pay and better working conditions. Her courage and commitment to her cause were an inspiration to the entire community. My grandmother’s passion for learning and teaching continued beyond her retirement, and she passed away in 2015 having left a lasting legacy.

My grandmother was a firm believer in the power of education. Growing up in a rural area, she was unable to attend school regularly but she did her best to teach herself. She was an avid reader and constantly sought out new knowledge. She was determined to teach herself all she could and to pass on this knowledge to her children. She encouraged her children to attend school and pursue their dreams, no matter how big or small.

My grandmother was also a great believer in the importance of learning from experience. She was a keen observer and often gave advice based on her own observations. She often shared stories of her own experiences with her children, helping them to understand the importance of taking risks and learning from mistakes.

My grandmother was an inspirational figure and she taught her children the importance of education. She showed them that education was not just confined to the classroom, but that it could be found in the everyday life around them. This instilled in them a passion for learning and a commitment to work hard to achieve their goals. In this way, my grandmother has left a lasting legacy that continues to inspire and motivate her children and grandchildren.

My grandmother’s life was a remarkable one, full of passion, dedication, and determination. She was born in the early 1900s and grew up in a rural area of India. Despite having to face challenges from a young age, she managed to overcome all obstacles to make an illustrious career for herself. She worked hard to become a successful businesswoman, owning multiple businesses and even becoming a member of the Indian Parliament. It was a life full of ambition, accomplishment, and service to the Indian people.

My grandmother’s life was a testament to resilience, as she faced and overcame tremendous odds in order to achieve success. She was a self-made success story, and her determination to move forward despite the odds was a source of strength and inspiration for many. She was also an advocate for women’s rights, and she worked hard to ensure that women had the same opportunities as men.

My grandmother’s life was a unique one, and her legacy still lives on today. She was a pioneering figure in the business world, and her success is an inspiration for many. Her story of resilience and determination will continue to serve as an example to future generations.

Nooran

Personal Life

My grandmother was an amazing woman who lived an extraordinary life. She was born in 1924 in a small village in Northern Italy. She was raised in a large family with four brothers and two sisters. As a young adult, she married and moved to the United States where she raised four children. My grandmother was a loving and caring individual with a strong faith in God. She was an avid reader and enjoyed learning new things. She was also very active in her community and volunteered for numerous organizations. She was a passionate landscaper and gardener, and spent many hours in her garden tending to her flowers. She was also a talented cook and baker, often preparing large meals for family and friends. My grandmother was a strong and independent woman who was determined to make the most of her life. She had a great sense of humor and always had a smile on her face. She was a beloved member of our family, and we will always remember her for her kind and generous spirit.

Influences and Legacies

My grandmother was an incredible woman who influenced and impacted many lives. She was a great role model and mentor to her family, friends, and community. Her legacy is one of kindness and compassion, a legacy that will be remembered and cherished for many generations to come. She was a strong and intelligent woman who had a profound impact on her family. As a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, she left a lasting impression on all who knew her.

She was a pillar of strength and a source of wisdom, offering guidance to her family and always inspiring them to reach their goals. Her legacy of generosity and selflessness was evident in her acts of kindness and her commitment to helping those in need. She was a devoted Christian who dedicated her life to serving the Lord.

The impact of my grandmother’s life is still felt today. Her legacy lives on through the stories that are shared and passed down from generation to generation. Her influence will be remembered through her family’s memories and the positive impact she had on their lives. She will always be remembered for her warmth, her laughter, and her strength. My grandmother was an incredible woman who left behind a powerful legacy of love, kindness, and perseverance.

Final Years

My grandmother’s final years were marked by a quiet resilience and strength. Having outlived her husband and many of her peers, she remained a pillar of wisdom and fortitude for her family. Although she was in her late nineties, she remained active and engaged in life. She enjoyed spending time with her family and friends, and kept up with the news of the day. She was particularly fond of her beloved cat, which she adopted in her later years.

My grandmother’s last few years were peaceful and full of joy. She was able to continue living independently in her own home until the very end. She was a source of comfort, encouragement, and love to her entire family. Even as her body began to weaken and her memory began to fade, her spirit and strength never wavered.

My grandmother passed away peacefully, surrounded by her loved ones. To this day, her life and legacy still serve as an inspiration to me and to the entire family. We are truly blessed to have had such a wonderful woman as part of our lives.

FAQs About the Biography Of My Grandmother

1. What is the earliest known information about my grandmother’s life?

Answer: The earliest known information about your grandmother’s life would likely include her date and place of birth, as well as any other significant life events she experienced during her childhood.

2. How can I find out more information about my grandmother’s life?

Answer: You can find out more information about your grandmother’s life by speaking with family members, researching public records, and/or consulting historical archives.

3. What is the best way to document my grandmother’s life story?

Answer: The best way to document your grandmother’s life story is to collect personal stories and memories from family members, create a timeline of her life, and document any important events or accomplishments.

In conclusion, my grandmother was an amazing woman who left a lasting impression on everyone she met. She was a strong, independent woman who cared deeply for her family and friends. She was dedicated to her work, and was a great role model for many. Her legacy lives on in her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She was a loving and caring person who will be remembered fondly by all who knew and loved her.

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  • Paragraph Writing
  • Paragraph On My Grandmother

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A family comprises a father, mother, children and grandparents. Lucky are those who have got a chance to hear the stories of grandmothers and to sleep on her lap. Before our parents and teachers, grandmothers are the ones who teach us life lessons and helped us build a great future. One is blessed if they have their grandmothers with them.

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Paragraph on my grandmother in 100 words, paragraph on my grandmother in 150 words, paragraph on my grandmother in 200 words, paragraph on my grandmother in 250 words, frequently asked questions on my grandmother.

Writing a paragraph on grandmother? Refer to the samples provided below before writing the paragraph.

My grandmother is the mother of the whole house. She is the one who takes care of the whole family with a beautiful smile on her face. She is the prettiest lady I have ever seen in my life. Her smile makes her the prettiest lady on this earth. She carries all the burdens on her shoulders but never forgets to carry the smile. She taught me how to overcome all the struggles of life. She has taught me to respect the elders and the youngsters. The stories she told me every night have a strong meaning hidden behind it.

My grandmother is the eldest member of my family and takes care of my entire family. She is one of the reasons behind all the success I have achieved in my life. I have learnt how to pay respect to my elders and do great in my life from her. She is the prettiest lady who takes care of the entire family selflessly. I feel I am the luckiest person to have my grandmother with me. I have seen her since my childhood, and she carries the same smile on her face. She is 70 years old now, but she takes the burden of the whole family and still remembers all the stories which she had learnt in her childhood. She narrates the same stories to me every night, which have happy endings with strong morals. Because of her, I have understood the reality of life, and now I know how to lead a successful life ahead and overcome all the hurdles.

My grandmother is the most beautiful and elegant lady in the world. She is the eldest member of my family. We are a family of 10 members, but she calmly handles everyone and takes care of everyone with lots of love. She is perfect at her work and never finds an excuse for not doing her work. She is 70 years old now but remembers the stories which she had heard from her grandmother. She never fails to narrate the same stories to me every night, and she makes sure that I understand the morals hidden in the stories. She knows how to brainstorm my mind when I am not in the mood to study. If I am successful in my life today, then most of the credit goes to her. Since my parents were working, she was the one who took the best care of me. Even though she is not a professional teacher, she used to teach me maths and science, and after that, I never forgot the formulae she taught me. Even today, she takes care of my father like a small child. My behaviour and mannerism are appreciated only because of her. I could do well in the exam only because of her guidance.

My grandmother is the eldest member of my family; she is 70 years old now but looks as if she is just 20 years old. She takes good care of the entire family and makes sure that everyone lives peacefully in the family. I live in a joint family of 10 members, and my grandmother is the one who takes care of everyone with lots of patience. She still takes care of my father and his brothers like small children. At this age, she is still so perfect at her work and never gives an excuse for her work. She still remembers the stories she had heard from her grandmother, and she narrates the same to my cousins and me every night. She makes sure that we think about the story and find the moral of it. Every story she narrates has a beautiful moral hidden behind it. Those morals give us teachings for the rest of our lives. She knows how to brainstorm my mind when I am not in the mood to study. If I am successful in my life today, then most of the credit goes to her. She used to teach me Maths and Science during my school days because my parents were working. Even though she is not a professional teacher, she is the best teacher I have ever got. I still remember the formulae she taught me during my childhood. She is one of the reasons behind my success. If I am appreciated today for my behaviour and good manners, it is only because of her. She taught me how to be respectful to elders.

Why is a grandmother important in our life?

Grandmothers are important in our lives because of the moral lessons we get from them, the love and affection we get from them, and for being the biggest support of our life.

How can I write a paragraph about my grandmother?

You can write about your grandmother by explaining her role in your life. You can explain how she has been your biggest influencer and best friend.

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Biography of My Grandmother

Picture of the front cover

My object is a biography of my grandmother, Edyta. It is called Księżniczka Deptaku , which means “Princess of the Promenade.” It was written in Polish. Edyta was born in Warsaw on April 4, 1929. During World War II, she was forced to live in the Warsaw Ghetto. Edyta, who was Jewish, was forced to work for the Germans. Edyta & her mother walked out of the ghetto at some point after 1943 then ended up in Munich from 1944 to 1947. Edyta then came to the US as an “orphan” because she claimed to be a war orphan even though her mother was alive when she was 17. Her mother came over later as a translator in 1948. They then lived in the Bronx. Years later, in 2006, she found a Polish author, Marta Sztokfisz, to write the biography. She died in 2008, and it was published. This book is important to me because it shows how my grandmother dealt with the aftereffects of the Holocaust and mental health. It explains how she could endure such a dark time from such a young age and live to be the person she was, living a full life and having 2 kids. Although she had a few pockets of depression feeling like the world owed her one, she persevered and had a family in the end. It makes me feel mentally stronger and empowers me. It shows initiative and that she could think when even death was at hand.  . 

Place(s): Warsaw, Poland Year: 1947

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant

My 91-year-old grandma was filled with wisdom. There were 3 important life lessons I was grateful she passed down.

  • My grandmother — known to us as "Nanny" — was a role model whose qualities I try to emulate.
  • She was a positive person who taught me and my sister many life lessons.
  • I honored her by naming my first child after her.

Insider Today

Daisy Ridley is better known as Rey in Star Wars — the sensitive Jedi whose attitude is nonetheless badass.

My paternal grandmother, who died at 91, became Daisy Ridley — her maiden name was Duck of all things — in 1932 when she married my grandfather, Robert. She was born nearly 80 years before the actor, now 31. My sister, Alison, and I affectionately called her "Nanny." She had a similar personality to Rey.

And, just as the Star Wars character inspired women and girls to be strong, Nanny was our role model. Alison said that she thinks of her every day. Me too.

It was why my husband and I picked the name Daisy for our daughter in 2008. Now a teen , she embodies Nanny's spirit in regard to confidence.

I hope she inherits her wisdom. Nanny taught us life lessons during the precious years we spent together. Here are three that I'm especially glad she passed down.

Do what you love

Nanny was a born saleswoman. She liked nothing better than the sense of accomplishment when she sold an expensive wig or a pair of leather gloves in the upscale department store where she worked.

She lied about her age when she was hired. She didn't want to have to leave at 60 — the retirement age for women in the UK back then. She extended her time at the store by several years.

Related stories

"I'll do it for nothing," she told me once. Sure enough, she volunteered at a charity thrift store next. She sold secondhand clothing and unpacked boxes in the storeroom for more than 25 years.

Meanwhile, she steered both my dad and me into journalism. She championed our curiosity for other people. We both love what I do.

Recycle everything

My grandmother was ahead of her time in terms of recycling. She lived through World War I and II when rationing and "make do and mend" were the norms.

She did the same during peacetime, even reusing teabags. She never tore wrapping paper and saved it for the upcoming Christmases!

Another quirk was drinking the water in which she boiled vegetables. "It's full of vitamins, " she'd say. My sister does it to this day.

My parents always snip coupons. Like her, they'll build a meal around produce reduced at the store.

As for me, I use iron-on patches to get more life out of my jeans. I donate and receive items through "Buy Nothing" Facebook groups. Last year, a generous stranger gifted our family a piano. I funnel toys to a school that teaches migrant kids. Nanny would be proud.

Seek friendships from different generations

Nanny had a large circle of friends from most generations. Her best friend was a neighbor, Linda. Linda was more than half her age. They'd laugh together like teenagers.

Alison went on vacation with Nanny several times despite their 51-year age difference. Once, they attended a toga party at a hotel in Scotland. Nanny wore a white sheet — and looked fantastic. Younger men asked her to dance.

She spent time with her peers at her senior living facility but felt comfortable with "the youth," as she called them. They kept her up to date on everything from rap to transgenderism.

Her 2004 funeral was well attended. The mourners included the children she babysat in her 70s. Adults, by then, shared memories of bedtime stories and sneaked-in candy.

My sister and I learned from Nanny that friendship has no upper or lower limits in terms of age. My godfather, Don, 84, is a trusted — and hilarious — confidant. My kids' au pair, Standa, 28 years my junior, has become a close companion.

Standa and I were out for lunch the other day. He told me about the skincare brand The Ordinary. He said it's popular with "the youth." I placed an order.

biography about my grandmother

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376 - Moreau - Leff

My Grandmother’s Autobiography

According to my grandmother’s self-published autobiography, she and her fourth husband, Anthony, found jobs at the Montgomery Ward department store in Phoenix in the winter of 1941. Anthony was the window dresser; my grandmother, the store detective. They struggled to make ends meet while living in a motel room with two children, my mother and her brother.

My grandmother wasn’t store detective for long because she never recovered enough stolen merchandise to meet the store’s four-hundred-dollar-a-month quota. In her book she describes herself as “too compassionate” with shoplifters. She stopped poor Mexican children inside the store and whispered for them to drop the lifted goods and run home as fast as they could.

Although she stood at the door each evening and checked the salesladies’ pocketbooks before they left work, she failed to notice the store’s number-one shoplifter. As window dresser, Anthony pulled items from every department, theoretically to use for display. Instead he smuggled many of them out of the store under his clothing. My grandmother writes, “I thought he was just getting fat,” but nothing I know about my grandmother could make me believe that. She most likely kept whatever merchandise pleased her or fit the kids, then pawned the rest and got drunk for days. Who knows if Anthony was even her legal husband? Just the title of my grandmother’s autobiography, The Lady , is proof enough of her unreliability.

I’ve tried to talk to my mother about my grandmother’s autobiography, but the subject aggravates her. “That fucking book!” she says.

I can understand my mother’s revulsion. My grandmother writes of the time she left my mother and her brother in a boardinghouse for six weeks while she was in the hospital with an ectopic pregnancy. My mother was nine; her brother was five. The boardinghouse owner didn’t know what to do with the kids and called Ives, my grandmother’s lover, thinking he was their father. Ives’s wife answered the phone and learned of her husband’s infidelity. Furious, she went to my grandmother’s hospital bed with a gun. Seeing my grandmother already so close to death, she put the gun away and left her to die on her own. My grandmother writes about her miraculous recovery and coming home to find her children in the boardinghouse, dirty and hungry, with nothing to eat but cold, spoiled cabbage.

My mother told me about how my grandmother would often take her and her brother to bars to pick up a man to buy drinks for her and hamburgers for her kids. My mother also remembers long bus rides across the country, as my grandmother chased down some new man or rumors of a job. When my mother was fourteen, my grandmother gave her a one-way bus ticket to New York City and told her, “Go become a star!” My mother sent home a portion of her first paycheck as an elevator operator in the Empire State Building, and she continued to help support my grandmother for the next fifty years.

I’d like to say I listened to my mother’s stories with compassion, but I never liked hearing them. She usually told them to me when she was weeping about how she had failed me as a mother, like the time she left me home alone during my ninth-grade Christmas break while she went on a Caribbean cruise with my stepfather. “I didn’t learn how to be a normal mother,” she’d preface one of the tales from her Dickensian childhood. Her stories made me cringe; they sounded like excuses.

My mother is beautiful, and she married well, twice. She was reading in her Fifth Avenue living room when she received the call about the trailer: My grandmother wanted to buy a trailer in Palm Desert, California, but didn’t have the money. She pleaded, “Just buy me this one thing, and I’ll never bother you again.” My mother knew my grandmother would bother her again, but she sat uneasily upon her good fortune. She looked out her window at the art deco towers illuminated across Central Park and down at the diamond ring on her finger. The poor woman is only asking for a trailer , she thought. Having undergone Freudian psychoanalysis in the sixties only to become a therapist herself in the seventies, my mother diagnosed herself with survivor’s guilt and wrote a check.

Six months later, my grandmother sold the trailer at half its cost and used the money to publish her autobiography with a vanity press. She sent us a signed copy, which my mother threw across the room. The next day I picked it up and shelved it among other family heirlooms, next to my father’s volume of the Masonic Morals and Dogma and the antique opera glasses my bipolar uncle swore Ulysses S. Grant had been looking through when Lincoln was shot.

I remember little about my grandmother, because when I was eight years old my mother forbade her to visit us ever again. I do remember sitting at the beach with her one day when I was six, eating a cream-cheese-and-grape-jelly sandwich, staring at the purple varicose veins on her fleshy white legs. I remember how my grandmother and my mother screamed at one another in the foyer of our apartment after my father died. I can still taste the homemade fudge my grandmother sent us — salty, grainy, and too sweet even for a child. One Christmas, when she worked for the U.S. merchant marine, my grandmother sent me a basketful of black-faced, cotton rag dolls from Africa. She ended up losing that job when she was caught stealing tins of sardines from the ship to feed the street cats of Rome. Mostly I remember the moods that overcame my mother whenever news of my grandmother’s latest crisis reached our home. My stepfather would say in exasperation, “Just send her some money and forget about it.” He never met his mother-in-law.

Eventually my grandmother became too crippled by arthritis, obesity, and alcoholism to care for herself. One afternoon a motel manager in Desert Hot Springs found her naked and unconscious in her room, which was strewn with bottles, soiled clothing, and the urine and feces of eleven stray cats she’d taken in. My mother got on the phone with the local Department of Social Services and had my grandmother placed in a rest home. A few months later she was turned out for disorderly behavior. Over the years my grandmother must have been expelled from every nursing home in southern California, usually after she’d managed to bribe one of the attendants to buy her whiskey. From one retirement home, my grandmother called the local animal shelter, reporting that nurses were capturing stray cats and dogs, tying them to trees, and shooting them. As word spread, a small group of animal-rights activists protested outside the home. My mother flew out to California and transferred my grandmother to another facility, where security was high and the staff knew not to provide residents with alcohol.

A year later I moved to Los Angeles. Though I was aware that my grandmother lived there, I never asked my mother for her address. I recalled the screaming from my childhood and my mother’s tears. I was afraid.

“She’s a very self-destructive woman!” my mother often said. “And she’s not your problem.” That was my mother’s gift to my stepfather and me — shielding us from the biggest burden in her life.

376 - Anderson - Leff

When my grandmother died, my mother flew to LA. We drove to the nursing home, a dreary building in a rough section of town. Inside, I breathed through my mouth to avoid the stench of urine that pervaded the linoleum-floored hallways. In the office, my mother signed forms. There was a cardboard box of my grandmother’s personal possessions. “Please give them away,” my mother said to the middle-aged woman who directed the facility.

“She loved spicy food,” the director said, as if my grandmother had been a naughty child. “We couldn’t keep her off the Tabasco sauce. She used to take it from the dining room, squirrel it away in her bedclothes. The nurses said she drank it straight from the bottle. She burned a hole right through her esophagus.” My mother shook her head, as if to say, Incorrigible . I turned my face toward the window so my mother wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

We stopped by a funeral home to arrange for my grandmother’s cremation. Her ashes would be scattered at sea, and a plaque in her memory would be placed in the funeral home, on the same wall as Marilyn Monroe’s name. My grandmother would have liked that, my mother and I agreed.

Though my grandmother’s brother was too feeble to travel from Detroit, his wife called, saying she would fly to California the next day for the memorial service. My mother and I looked at each other. We hadn’t even thought about having a service. “Aunt Sharon’s flying in for a service?” my mother said, incredulous. “Where the hell was she when my brother and I were starving?” My mother’s brother had committed suicide ten years earlier. My mother shook her head and reserved a small room at the funeral home.

I asked my friend Connie, who facilitated women’s writing classes and sometimes led groups into Topanga Canyon for full-moon ceremonies, to lead the funeral. “A minister would be inappropriate. And I’m desperate,” I said.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Connie said. I was silent. “OK,” she relented. “I’ll read something from Rilke.”

The next day brought a torrential downpour. I’d begged a few other friends to come. We sat in a circle, stiff and polite, until Connie invited each of us to share our thoughts. Great-aunt Sharon said, “She was the worst sister-in-law anyone could ever have!”

Later that night at my house, my mother said, “Let’s go somewhere.” She booked rooms at a spa for the next day. “We’d like massages,” she told the reservationist. “No dieting. No exercise.”

It rained two more days while we stayed at the spa, dressed in white terry-cloth robes with towels on our heads. We detoxified our bodies by day, ate steak and French fries by night. When the weather cleared, we walked around the flooded golf course. I picked up a dead fish about a foot and a half long on the seventeenth green. My mother snapped a photo of me holding it by the tail like a trophy. Down near the ocean in La Jolla, we watched chipmunks scurrying over a sea wall. A silver-haired man walked up to us. “Those chipmunks dig the mortar out from between the rocks,” he said. “Ruin the wall. Someone ought to shoot them.” He strolled away.

My mother faced me, furious. “You know what my mother would have told him? She would have said, ‘Someone should shoot you, mister!’ ”

We drove back to LA, and the next morning, my mother left for New York.

A few weeks later I was riding through Hollywood with a friend. I asked him to take a quick detour by the nursing home. “My grandmother lived in there for five years,” I said. “She was an alcoholic, but she couldn’t get any liquor. She drank herself to death on Tabasco sauce.

“I never went to see her,” I continued. “She was my grandmother, but I know very little about her.”

That night, after dinner, I came home and found my grandmother’s autobiography. I thought about how much effort it takes to write a book, no matter how awful the story is, or how badly written. I sat down on my couch and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. I opened the book and started to read.

  • Family and Relationships

Valerie Ann Leff

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April 2007

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Nsw migration heritage centre, documenting australia's migration history, the life of my grandmother, anna.

The life of my grandmother, Anna Read the Greek version of this story

Author: Joanne Adam Storyteller: Anna Adam Community Language School: Hellenic Orthodox Community of Bexley North and Districts Main School: Kingsgrove Public School

My grandmother's memories of Greece.

Today I would like to talk to you about how my grandmother Anna came to live in Australia. My grandmother Anna is my maternal grandmother. My name is Joanna. I have the same name as my grandmother, because her name is actually Joanna, but she is known as Anna.

Life in Greece

Well, I would like to begin by telling you that my grandmother was born and lived in a village in Greece named Skopi, Tripoli. Back then it was a very small village with only a few houses. My great grandparents did not own a car. However they did own horses and donkeys. They would use them as the mode of transportation. They would also use the horses to help them plough the fields. Motor driven ploughs as we know them today, did not exist back then. There was a lot of manual labour. My grandmother did not have a small backyard as we have nowadays. They had a reasonable sized farm with pigs, rabbits, goats, lambs and chickens. These animals were either bred to be eaten or to get milk from. They planted wheat and corn, once again so they could eat. You see, if they did not have a corner store, where they could get goods if they ran out?

My grandmother Ann only went to school up to the age of twelve years. The whole family including my grandmother had to help in the fields. Money was not plentiful. It was times of war and life was very difficult. They went to school in the morning. At lunchtime they went home for a couple of hours and then they returned to school till approximately 5.00pm. There was also school on Saturdays but this was only for half the day. My grandmother recalls all the children going to school on Sundays and then the teachers taking them to church.

My great grandparents would work in the fields all day and often come home later in the evening, well after the children. In this case it was up to the children to start dinner. They did not have the luxury of television or radio.

My grandmother was often asked to stay at home with her older brother and look after her grandmother who was sick, because her parents had to work in the fields. Because of this it was very difficult to get a proper education.

They would have special celebrations such as Easter, Christmas and her father's name day- they would celebrate this by having a get together with family and friends at home.

Because life was not great in Greece, when my grandmother was 19 years old, she decided to make a better life for herself in Australia. Her father pleaded with her not to go. He also told her that if she didn't like life in Australia, not to be afraid to return. This was an extremely sad moment for everyone. They did not know if they would ever see each other again or what sort of life my grandmother would have in Australia. My grandmother already had a couple of cousins living in Australia and decided to come and stay with them. In 1959 she travelled 28 days by ship to Australia. The journey was very tiring. The seas were very rough and there was a lot of seasickness.

Culture shock

First my grandmother lived in Redfern with her cousin. At the beginning she cried a lot because she was homesick and she found things to be much different in Australia. The buildings were different, houses were segregated by fences, there were footpaths, automobiles etc.

To us, these might seem as normal everyday things. We're used to seeing them everyday. But to someone who came from a different country and different lifestyle, it was a major culture shock. Also the cuisine that my grandmother was used to was totally different.

There was also a language barrier. My grandmother did not understand the English language, which made it hard for her to communicate with other people. Also the currency was different which took a lot of getting used to. They had to go to the store for food and other products. They could not get it from the farm, like they had been used to. There were many new and different things she had to get used to. Even though things were extremely different and she was homesick, she still didn't want to return home. The desire for a better life was enough incentive for her to stay in Australia.

Settling in Australia

Her cousin helped her to find her first job at an ETA factory. Back then all she had to do was to go around and ask if there was a job vacancy. Eventually she got married and settled down in Australia with her own family. Of course it was very sad that her parents could not be here to join in her happiness. It took a while to adjust as to the weather patterns as well. In summer for example it would be rainy and cold, but in Greece if it was summer you knew that you would have nice sunny weather.

From memory, my grandmother remembers there only being three Greek Orthodox churches in Sydney.

Obviously life is better here now. She has settled in Australia, and has her own children and grandchildren. She feels at home here because she has spent 43 years of her life here as opposed to 19 years in Greece. Even though she feels at home in Australia, Greece is always in the back of her mind calling her to go back home. As much as she'd like to go and stay, it is not possible because her life is here now. However, who knows, maybe one day, I will be lucky enough to visit Greece with my grandmother and get to see her beautiful homeland.

Joanna Adams

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How I Learned to Love My Granddaughter Without Fear

biography about my grandmother

T he phone call from my daughter in North Carolina came at six o’clock in the morning, unusually early for her. “I’m pregnant,” Maggie announced, her voice bubbling with delight.

From 1,600 miles away I put down my mug of smoky dark-roast coffee and gave a shout. Her news was the last thing I would have expected as I sat in my rented house in Albuquerque, watching roadrunners skitter over the xeriscaping in the front yard, stabbing at the dried mealworms I’d just put out for them. 

Maggie and her husband, Jimmy, together for 11 years and married for eight, had been on the fence about having children. Four years into their marriage, they decided to try for a baby. But after years passed, they both assumed and then accepted it wasn’t going to happen.

Read More: What My Family Taught Me About Loneliness

I’d looked on with a mixture of curiosity and a small bit of envy as friends welcomed one grandchild after another. My oldest son, Liam, in his early 40s, was at the time unattached. I’d resigned myself to the possibility of never knowing that particular brand of joy, although I also couldn’t imagine what it would be like to actually be someone’s grandmother.

And yet, here I was, trying to wrap my head around the idea. I walked through the house, my brindle Boxer dogging my footsteps as I did a quick inventory of room after room. In the next couple of days, I began packing up my belongings and arranging for housing with dear friends back home. 

During one of our phone calls, my daughter had asked, “What do you want your grandmother name to be?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” I confessed. 

Meanwhile, I worked to tamp down a rising anxiety. My second child, Cooper, had been born 40 years ago with a heart defect. When he was 4 days old, he had closed-heart surgery to repair a coarctation of the aorta. What we didn’t know — what no one could have known then, with limited ability to see inside an infant’s heart — was there were other, more deadly defects hidden within, two holes in the wall separating the atria. When he was 6 weeks old, he died quietly at home in my arms as I held and rocked him, unaware he was slipping away from me.

Read More: I Got Divorced. But My Family Is Still Whole

When Cooper died, Liam was 2 1/2. To say I became an overly anxious mother would be an understatement. I monitored every bump and bruise, each sniffle and fever. Nightmares of childhood cancer and other life-threatening illnesses pushed their way into everyday activities. After all, I now knew that the worst was possible. 

Then I became pregnant again. After Maggie was born, I slept with her on my stomach most nights, and when she finally transitioned to a crib, I’d go into her room in the morning, half-expecting to find she’d died.

The grip on my heart gradually released, though, as my healthy children grew into their wonderful selves with nothing more than the usual list of childhood maladies and injuries. And now here was my baby having a baby. My emotions roiled with wonder and excitement, but all of it was overshadowed by a deep, resonating dread.

My daughter sent me the first ultrasound photos of “Little Bean,” a nickname they’d given in the earliest days when a pregnancy app indicated the developing clump of cells was the size of a vanilla bean.

I peered at the mottled, blurry image of my grandchild at 8 weeks gestation. “What am I seeing?” I asked.

“Here,” she texted and sent a second photo, this one with a red arrow pointing to a small darkish blob with a hazy dot in it like a dandelion tuft. “The brighter spot is the heart,” she wrote.

biography about my grandmother

I peered at the picture, trying to imagine the fuzzy image as a beating heart. Something in me broke open, then just as quickly slammed shut. 

Some years before, during my tenure at the domestic-violence and rape crisis agency, a co-worker had asked if I’d mind holding her newborn while she attended a short meeting. I happily took her baby boy in my arms, cooing and grinning at him, and brought him into my office. Sinking into the chair, the first thing I did was check to make sure he was breathing, as easily as one might check to make sure his socks were still on. Hot tears of sorrow and anger spilled down my cheeks at my automatic reaction to holding an infant. 

This is how trauma lives in the body, tentacled through our sense memory. So much of the terrible night my son died remains a blur. What I have recalled all too well is the cold stillness, the weight of his tiny form, and the shock of him being so utterly gone.

Little Bean turned out to be a girl and with the given name June. All ultrasounds and other tests revealed her to be developing as she should. But I couldn’t shake the sense of dread.

“So much could go wrong,” I worried aloud to a friend.

“And so much could go right,” was her loving response.

Read More: We Didn't Have Much Money. My Daughter Still Deserved Joy

Maggie was induced early one morning, and labor progressed slowly over the course of the day. At 9:37 that night I witnessed the moment my daughter pushed her baby girl into the world, a 7 ½-lb. miracle with downy dark hair and an adorable button nose. My son-in-law said I should do the honors — the obstetrician handed me the scissors, and I cut the cord, severing June from the warm, liquid world of her mother’s womb, and officially welcoming her Earthside.

But after her first breath, the newborn cry, that plaintive, sharp wail all parents wait for, didn’t come. The nurses took June from my daughter’s arms and continued to rub and stimulate her as she blinked in the glare of the bright room, but her blood oxygen levels remained concerningly low.

“We’re going to take her to the nursery,” one of the nurses said. My son-in-law followed. My daughter, unable to leave the bed because of the epidural, looked at me from across the room.

A chest X-ray confirmed a suspected pneumothorax, a condition in which air leaks into the space between the lung and the chest. Because we live in a small town with a small hospital, June would need to be transported to an NICU an hour and a half away. Watching my daughter and son-in-law say a tearful goodbye to their newborn was one of the most wrenching scenes I’ve ever witnessed. The next morning my daughter was discharged, and I drove her to see her baby girl at the hospital where my son-in-law already was.

The neonatal specialist assured them that the small hole in her lung would likely heal on its own, and three days later they brought June home. “Just forget this happened,” the doctor said. All signs pointed to complete health.

But I was in a tailspin that I couldn’t seem to pull out of. 

Those first weeks I’d come to their house on Friday, taking charge of June at midnight after my daughter nursed her, and giving her the 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. bottles, watching her mouth as she suckled, stroking her soft skin. Did I feel like her grandmother? I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel. Friends had described a dizzying happiness at being “in the best club ever.”

What I felt too much of was terror, deathly afraid of the small bundle I held, continually monitoring her rosebud lips for signs of a bluish tint, watching to make sure her chest was rising and falling, panicking when it seemed too long between breaths. The urge to tumble helplessly in love with my granddaughter was in full battle with the freshly resurfaced memories of the night my son died. I kept my fears to myself, not wanting to foist my unease on my already traumatized daughter and son-in-law, who were struggling to return to the normalcy of welcoming this new baby into their lives after her scary start. 

One afternoon, talking on the phone with a friend while driving in town, I heard myself say, “The doctors assured them the hole in her heart would heal.” There was a stunned silence as I realized what I’d said. “I mean her lung,” I said and hung up, pulling into a grocery-store parking lot where I sat with my face in my hands, weeping. In that moment, I knew I had a choice — release the dark grief or risk missing one of the most light-filled times of my life. 

“That was that baby,” I told myself. “This baby doesn’t have any holes in her heart. This baby is fine.” I offered myself a mantra to try. “That was then, this is now.” Whenever the old trepidation would rise, I’d repeat the words, reminding myself of the distance in years and reality between the death of my son and the life of this sweet, healthy baby girl. Gradually, my heart unwound.

One afternoon, while my daughter napped in the next room, I snuggled little June close and rocked her. I leaned down to listen to the sound of her quiet breathing, this time not from fear but wonder. She looked up at me with deep blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes and stared as if memorizing my face. Unable to look away, I let her hold me in the power of her wide-open gaze.

“The brighter spot is the heart,” my daughter had written to me all those months ago, and now baby June and I sat basking in the light of a love big enough to hold it all — yesterday’s grief, today’s joy, and all the beautiful and uncertain tomorrows. 

Outside, a soft breeze blew, and a shard of sunlight shot through the trees. I kissed my granddaughter’s forehead and began to sing.

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The Biography of My Grandfather and My Grandmother

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This is a research paper written by Luiz Campos for an American History Class at Marfa High School in 1966 about his grandparents. It describes a picture of them and gives a brief family history. Luiz's grandmother lived to be 112 years old!

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Creator: Unknown. 1966.

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  • Campos, Teresa

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Marfa public library.

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The Biography of My Grandfather and My Grandmother , text , 1966; ( https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth39433/ : accessed May 18, 2024 ), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu ; crediting Marfa Public Library .

Opinion: My family’s generations of mothering

A mother and daughter reflect on their relationship through time.

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Once, when I was in my preteens, my best friend and I wandered off at the local ice skating rink to browse the gift shop. We were gone for so long that my mother panicked and had our names called over the rink’s loudspeaker. When she eventually found us, I think she was just as angry as she was relieved, and I’ve never forgotten the look on her face.

Now, more than 20 years later, I watch my mother care for her own mother in stores, restaurants and the house with the same love and trepidation. My grandmother has dementia that has reached the stage where she doesn’t know who most of her relatives or friends are anymore. She needs to search for most words and isn’t always able to find them. She doesn’t know that her younger sister died last year. She disappears into certain rooms of my parents’ house for so long that the other day I asked my dad if we should check on her. He said not to worry, that she does this multiple times per day. Sure enough, she reappeared and sat back down in her recliner and then, about 15 minutes later, she wandered to another room again.

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For the past several years I’ve been watching my parents raise my grandmother. I always knew they were good parents — I had a wonderful childhood, something I really appreciated only in retrospect. But watching them now as they parent my grandmother — and I don’t know what other word to use to describe the way they feed her, clothe her, make sure she’s taking her medications, set up all her appointments — it hits me in a different way. I’m turning 36 this year and have no children. I’m almost certain I don’t want any, but it hasn’t escaped me that I’m reaching the point where I need to decide for sure.

I am also starting to realize that even if I don’t birth my own children, I will probably still end up parenting some day. Dementia is often hereditary. My grandmother’s father died from it, and we have no idea if my mother will inherit it. But if it’s not that, there will most likely be something else that brings about the role-switch for us that she is currently experiencing. I also can’t help but wonder, if I don’t have any children, who will be there to parent me at the end? Yet I’m not sure I can commit to the idea of having a child just so that I’ll have someone to take care of me when my own mother is no longer here.

Wilmington, Los Angeles, California-Dec. 7, 2021-A woman walks with two young children along the playground at Wilmington Park Elementary on Dec. 7, 2021, where a 9-year-old girl was hit by a stray bullet yesterday afternoon, Dec. 6, 2021. A 13-year-old boy was killed and two other people were injured, including a 9-year-old girl, in a shooting in Wilmington late Monday afternoon. A 9-year-old girl playing nearby at Wilmington Park Elementary School was hit by a stray bullet, prompting a separate 911 call. She was hospitalized in critical condition. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)

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My mom and I are different in a lot of ways. She’s very outgoing and naturally friendly, which I am not; she remembers every birthday and every important date, whereas I forget something immediately if I don’t write it down. She grew up a tomboy and has played sports her entire life; I have been awarded more than one participation medal for my feeble athletic efforts. Sometimes we’ve struggled to find common ground. But now that I am well into adulthood, we have a relationship that, for the first time, lets us see each other on the same level. Parenting is at the center of both our lives right now, as I decide whether or not I want to become one, and she is thrust back into a role that I’m not sure she ever imagined returning to after my sister and I grew up. If anything, she was supposed to get a promotion from mother to grandmother.

“Mother” is certainly not her only identity, but I know that sometimes she must feel like it is. And I know that, despite how much she loves her mom, she will be ready for the next phase of her life once my grandmother passes. She is ready to fully inhabit the other identities that I saw once I was old enough to realize that she had a right to exist outside of me: traveler, hiker, friend, reader, wife, gardener, sister, aunt.

Taking care of an elderly parent comes with a lot of complicated feelings, and my mom has begun to talk about things that show me she’s thinking about how she’ll spend the rest of her own life. There are countries she wants to explore, but also everyday activities that are easy to take for granted when you aren’t responsible for someone else, such as wanting to join me on some of my regular morning walks on the beach.

For now, I watch my mother hold my grandma’s hand as she walks her down the street. She tucks my grandmother’s scarf into her jacket to make sure she’s warm enough, and I can see that my grandma feels safe, content and protected, even if everything else is confusing for her. I can only hope that, if and when our own roles reverse, I will be as good of a parent to my mom.

Jackie DesForges is a writer and artist in Los Angeles. @jackie__writes

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The Secret Ingredient in My Grandma’s Famous Salad Dressing

I like to think I inherited the itch to host dinner parties from my grandma. When I was growing up, she hosted regular family dinners, holiday meals, and some truly special birthdays (if it was your day, you got to pick the meal and the cake). She would work tirelessly to bring it to life. However, no matter what we were having for dinner, one thing always stayed the same: her salad.

The salad started with a base of romaine, but the rest of the ingredients would come and go. Avocado, broccoli florets, bell peppers, red onions, mushrooms, artichoke hearts, olives — the combination of toppings was never exactly the same, but the dressing was always a creamy vinaigrette that she made without a recipe. We’d start every dinner with the salad, on chilled plates, swapping vegetables with the people to our left or right who would prefer them.

A year and a half ago, my grandma passed away suddenly, weeks before Thanksgiving. I couldn’t make it home for the holiday, which was fine because no one felt much like celebrating. My dad did, however, want to have the salad . We did some guessing over the phone and constructed, from memory, what ingredients felt the most right — “definitely avocado and celery, maybe you can skip the olives.” We came to the conclusion that it was a red wine vinaigrette with a little mayo, Greek seasoning , and Parmesan cheese. My parents had the salad with their holiday meal, and my dad reported back. Sadly, it just didn’t taste right.

A few weeks later, I came to town for the holidays and we planned to try again for our family Hanukkah dinner. Normally we’d have my holiday salad (one of my grandma’s favorites), but this year we were on a mission. I’d spent weeks combing through my memories and came to one conclusion: It was the Parm. Sure enough, to do the salad justice, my dad had purchased a wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano to grate into the salad. Not a bad guess, because my grandma used nice cheese all the time in her cooking. But for the salad dressing, I swore she used shaker Parm from the green canister. We made a new batch, and my eyes immediately welled up with tears. My dad, also choked up, just said “wow.”

I’m a girl who really loves salads , and this might be the first one I ever loved. I have all of my grandma’s recipe cards and books in my apartment, but the one I cherish the most is the one she never bothered to write down. Plus, it’s a nice reminder that it’s not always the fanciest ingredients that make the most special meals.

Why It Works

It’s delicious. The umami-rich salad dressing is creamy without being too heavy, tangy without going overboard, and plays well with a wide range of ingredients.

It’s affordable. You can skip the expensive cheese. Less-fancy shaker Parm does the absolute most for your salad dressing. It adds an impressive punch of cheesy flavor and the extra-fine texture melts perfectly into the dressing for an ideal texture.

Grandma knows the best.

Key Ingredients in My Grandma’s Salad Dressing

I start with a basic ratio when I make this dressing: 3 parts olive oil, 1 part vinegar, 1 part mayo, and 1 part Parm, and adjust from there. Throw it all in a jar and shake until it looks creamy and delicious.

Red wine vinegar. Adjust the ratio to your preference, but I like a zippier vinaigrette with a little more acid.

Olive oil. Extra virgin olive is the base of the dressing.

Mayo. A little mayonnaise mellows out the vinegar just enough and makes the dressing, delightfully, just a bit creamy.

Greek seasoning. She used this old-school seasoning mix every time. It contains salt, so don’t season until the end.

Pepper. Add a generous amount of freshly cracked black pepper.

Parm. Skip the fancy stuff and go with the pizza joint classic: green shaker cheese.

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biography about my grandmother

“I would want anybody to try and save my grandma...”: Columbus police officer speaks exclusively with News Leader 9 after escorting woman from house fire

COLUMBUS, Ga. (WTVM) - In a heroic act, a Columbus police officer rescued a woman from a house fire in the middle of the night.

Officer Michael Coley has only been a police officer for three months, all with the Columbus Police Department. However, he told News Leader 9 that did not stop him from answering the call to save a life on May 10th.

“I don’t know what drove me to do it,” he told us. “I just went headfirst into the smoke. I mean I would want anybody to try and save my grandma. So, I thought why not try and save her.”

According to police, Officer Coley smelled smoke while on duty near Veterans Pkwy. and Hancock Rd. He searched the area and found a home in flames in the 2900 block of Waterhill Rd.

“I was gonna make a turn on a previous road, but just continued on to Hancock and as soon as I pulled onto the road, that’s when I smelled the smoke,” he explained.

Officer Coley said he radioed dispatch, only to learn there were no reports of a fire.

“When I rounded a corner, saw the fire, and immediately started trying to alert if there was anybody inside the house,” Coley said.

His colleagues also arrived on the scene to help. His Sergeant kicked in the door, and then Coley ran inside.

“I have no inclination to what made me do it,” he said. “I just saw the smoke come out of the door after it was kicked in, and I just knew I had to go in.”

Officer Coley entered the home and located an 89-year-old who was asleep in her bedroom. He said he covered his face with a wash cloth to protect himself from the smoke. He handed it to the elderly woman when he found her.

“After I left the house, she was ushered away and I just I had to lean over, and it felt like a was coughing out a lung,” he said. “But I’m just hoping that towel I gave her helped her.”

All in all, Coley said he was doing what he signed up to do.

“I’m here to serve the community, and if that means running into a burning house to save an old lady, I’m serving my community.”

To watch the rescue, click on the video below:

WATCH: Columbus police officer escorts woman out of house fire

biography about my grandmother

EJ in the window, 2006. His mother, Carolynne St. Pierre, is on the left.

He lost his mom at an early age. These photos of his life honor her memory

Photographs by Preston Gannaway Story by Kyle Almond, CNN Published May 12, 2024

Carolynne St. Pierre was just 44 years old when she died from a rare form of liver cancer in 2007.

The mother of three was a maternity nurse in Concord, New Hampshire.

“That was a big part of her identity,” photographer Preston Gannaway said. “She was a wonderful mother and just such a natural, sensitive, caretaker in so many ways. And she had just a fantastic sense of humor. She was known for her quick wit and was making jokes up until the very end.”

In her final months, St. Pierre opened up her home to Gannaway, who at the time was working for the Concord Monitor newspaper. Gannaway and reporter Chelsea Conaboy documented the family’s struggle with a series of stories over the course of almost two years.

“We were in the room with Carolynne when she died,” Gannaway said. “And the majority of the work we did actually was after she had passed, showing what happened after that, how the family coped, what life was like for them.”

biography about my grandmother

The series was headlined “Remember Me,” and many photos focused on the youngest son, Elijah, better known as EJ.

“A lot of the motivation for them opening up their lives to us was that Carolynne was really scared that EJ would be too young to remember her at all,” Gannaway said.

With that in mind, St. Pierre and her husband, Rich, spent many of her last days writing letters and recording videos for their children to have after she was gone.

EJ was 4 when his mom died. One of Gannaway’s photos, taken a few months later, show him and his dad planting a tree in his mom’s memory on Mother’s Day.

biography about my grandmother

“Initially that was a big part of my interest in the story: What happens after someone’s gone?” Gannaway said.

Gannaway left the newspaper not too long afterward, but she didn’t want the story to end there.

“Because of what I had gone through with them, I felt such an intense bond and an intimacy,” she said. “I couldn’t just move on with my life and lose touch with Rich and EJ — that just felt wrong. So in part to maintain that connection, I would go back to visit regularly and I would bring my camera.”

biography about my grandmother

For the next 17 years, Gannaway has continued to photograph EJ, watching him grow up into the young man he is today. The photos hint at many of the milestones that his mother has missed over the years, such as school dances, graduations and dating.

“I’ve always been comfortable with Preston taking photos,” said EJ, who’s now a student at the University of New Hampshire. “She’s been taking photos since I was a little kid, so she’s just kind of always been there.”

Last year, the project was published into a book, “Remember Me,” and it is now being exhibited at the Chung 24 Gallery in San Francisco.

biography about my grandmother

“The original stories were about Carolynne fighting against time,” Gannaway said. “The project now is more a meditation on time itself.”

It explores themes of mortality, loss and masculinity, and she said she often thinks about Carolynne when she’s in New Hampshire taking photos.

“I also want to keep it loose enough that it’s not only about EJ and Rich and Carolynne, but that it’s also open enough so that everyone can relate to it in some way,” she said. “We’ve all experienced loss; it’s just such a fundamental part of the human experience and it comes in many different forms.”

EJ says he often struggled as a child, dealing with the grief and not having his mother around. “I was not a great kid. I was a very angry kid. But I got through it because of my family,” he said.

biography about my grandmother

His dad also lost his mother at a young age, so he could identify with what his son was going through. EJ called Rich “the rock of my life.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without him,” he said. “He got me help through therapy. And I’ve had really supportive family, my stepfamily as well. And that kind of helped me get through all the struggles and emotions when I was a young kid.”

EJ is now studying marine biology and is in the Air National Guard. He wants to go to graduate school and eventually do some research on cephalopods — specifically octopuses.

“I’ve always loved the water. I’ve been obsessed with the water since I was a little kid, whether it’s fresh or salt,” he said. “I love fishing. I’ve been really obsessed with cephalopods since I was a little kid, and it just never left me.”

biography about my grandmother

Gannaway said it has been fascinating to watch EJ evolve over the years.

“He’s earnest. He’s balanced. He’s very much a free thinker,” she said. “And he is always searching for what the right thing to do is.”

His dad told Gannaway in the book that EJ “has a sweetness to him that his mother had.”

Gannaway now lives in California, but she goes out to New Hampshire two or three times a year to catch up with EJ and the family and take photos.

“As time passed, I came to truly love who he was becoming,” she said.

As EJ looks back at Gannaway’s photos of him, he is very thankful for her work.

biography about my grandmother

“It gave me a way to look back on my life and kind of appreciate where I’ve been and how far I’ve come and what I’m still doing,” he said. “I tend to be probably harder on myself than I really should be when it comes to school, when it comes to work and when it comes to other things. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. So being able to look back and just acknowledge that a lot has happened in my lifetime and it’s OK if I’m not doing everything right now — I have an entire life to do what I want to do. The book gave me that perspective and appreciation of just how far me and my family have come.”

Gannaway says that while so much of the project is about aging, the passage of time and how someone’s presence lingers long after they’re gone, she’s also interested in the idea of place and how it can shape us.

“I very much see rural New Hampshire as a character in the book, and I wanted to get that across,” she said. “I love it when people who have spent time in that area or have some connection to New England can identify with that.”

biography about my grandmother

EJ says the only vivid memory he has of his mom is when she passed away. He was just so young. But he says she will never be forgotten.

“She continues to live on through me and through her other kids and through our family,” he said.

He cherishes all the memories that his family has shared with him about his mom, and he hopes the book can help other families who have young children dealing with similar loss.

“The only memories they’re going to have is the ones that you impart onto them,” he said. “And it’s really important that you remind the kids how much they were loved and how much their mothers — or fathers, any other lost family members and friends — truly loved them and wished they could have been there for the rest of their life.”

biography about my grandmother

Every Mother’s Day, EJ and Rich visit Carolynne’s grave and replace some roses.

“Unfortunately, I will not be around this Mother’s Day, so we’re going to have to plan another day to do it,” EJ said. “But that’s what we do. That’s our tradition.”

Another tradition will live on as well: Gannaway will continue to take photos of EJ and keep the “Remember Me” project going.

“I think we see it as a sort of living document that we all created with Carolynne,” Gannaway said. “It’s just one more way to memorialize her.”

biography about my grandmother

Preston Gannaway’s “ Remember Me "> Remember Me ” project is being exhibited at the Chung 24 Gallery "> exhibited at the Chung 24 Gallery in San Francisco until May 18.

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Death did Kaitlin Palmieri and her late fiancé, Eric, part on the morning of their August 2020 wedding day. 

Rather than walking down the aisle toward forever, a mourning Palmieri, then 35, became paralyzed with grief upon learning her dream lover suffered a fatal heart attack at 33, just hours before they were set to say, “I do.”

Despondent, the New Yorker spiraled into a seemingly endless cycle of despair — until she uncovered the sordid secrets of Eric’s double life. 

Kaitlin Palmieri with fiance Eric Bass in Central Park.

“I wanted to explode with anger,” Palmieri, 38, from Long Island, told The Post. 

On November 20, 2023, which would have been his 37th birthday, she learned that Eric, a traveling financial consultant, had been cheating on her with a woman on the West Coast for more than a year before his demise. 

“It felt like I’d been emotionally trapped and I couldn’t run anywhere,” Palmieri recalled. “I had so much frustration and nowhere to put it. He was gone.

“I was desperate for someone to tell me it wasn’t true,” she added. “But in my heart I knew that it was.

“And I wanted to burst.”

Kaitlin Palmieri with fiancé Eric Bass.

The bones of Eric’s betrayal came tumbling out of the closet when Palmieri stumbled upon a peculiar post dedicated to her deceased fiancé on Instagram. 

She didn’t think much of the virtual tribute — not initially, at least. 

Instead, the millennial figured it was just a funky fluke that she and this other woman were remembering two different dead men named Eric, who coincidentally shared a birthday. 

But after contacting the lady lamenter for clarity, Palmieri was smacked with the sobering truth.  

“He had been dating this other woman, who he’d met online, since March 2019,” Palmieri told The Post. 

The unnamed mistress flooded the wounded fiancée with text message screenshots, proving the lasciviousness of the affair — which began a mere seven months before Eric popped the question to Palmieri with a “fairytale” proposal in Central Park that December. 

“The last texts they shared were disgusting, sexual messages,” said Palmieri. “Eric sent them to her seven days before our wedding.”

A woman seeing something shocking on a phone.

Until that moment, Palmieri had believed Eric was heaven-sent to be her second chance at love.

Prior to swiping right on his dating profile in February 2018, she’d lost her boyfriend, Mike, to a freak accident in 2015.  

Mike had slipped into a body of water during her 30th birthday celebration and fallen unconscious. He died six days later. 

Palmieri shared her grief with Eric, whom she praised for being “wonderful” about supporting her grief at Mike’s loss. 

But her high regard for Eric — admiration that Palmieri held onto for years after his sudden cardiac arrest, which was caused by a secret medical condition — came crashing down upon the unveiling of his infidelity. 

Kaitlin Palmieri with fiancé Eric Bass at a bar.

“I cried for the first few days. But there is just no denying his pathological, narcissistic behavior behind this,” she said. 

“The audacity to put somebody who loved you through this, to stand in front of my 77-year-old parents and ask for their permission to marry me,” continued Palmieri. “This [ordeal] has aged them, and they didn’t deserve that.”

Since Eric’s death, she has been forced to leave their shared apartment in Astoria, Queens, and move back home to Long Island. 

There, Palmieri’s mother and father have worked to support her as she copes with the major depressive, anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorders she’s endured since discovering her darling’s dirty deeds.  

“I’ve lost everything,” said the scorned sweetheart. “It’s his fault. I have every right to be as angry as I feel.”

Conceptual photo of a marital infidelity.

Unfortunately, Palmieri is part of a sucky sorority of significant others who’ve discovered that their dearly departed mates were leading foul lives. 

In February, a content creator known online as @CherryBombSquad007 scored 4.7 million TikTok views after finding out her deceased hubby pretended to be a widower in order to woo women online. 

Bridgette Davis, 36, a widow from Cincinnati, also recently reached viral acclaim after publicizing the awkward exchange she had with her dead hubby’s paramour in the day following his death back in 2018. 

@cherrybombsquad007 Part 7 im still angry but ill never get anwsers to my questions #fypシ #foryou #foryoupage #cheater #secret #fyp #why #unhappy #truth #liar #crazy #fyp #foryou #series ♬ original sound – Cherrybombsquad007🍒

Palmieri is now on a journey toward overcoming the upheaval.

“This has really screwed with my brain,” she confessed, crediting therapy as her chief healing agent. 

“I wonder if he even loved me. Did he just want the stability and facade of marriage with me?” questioned the blonde, “because what he did wasn’t love.”

Palmieri hopes her tragedy helps others. 

“Sadly, a lot of people go through this,” she acknowledged before offering a word of encouragement to women who’ve also been wronged. 

“You’re allowed to be angry and hurt,” she emphasized.

“Don’t feel like you have to automatically forgive someone because they died.”

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Kaitlin Palmieri with fiance Eric Bass in Central Park.

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McDonald’s introduces new McFlurry inspired by … grandmothers?

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McDonald’s has added a new McFlurry flavour to its menu that is meant to taste like “a trip down Memory Lane.”

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McDonald’s introduces new McFlurry inspired by … grandmothers? Back to video

And who does that better than grandmothers?

The fast-food chain announced that for a limited time, the “Grandma McFlurry” will roll out at its U.S. restaurants beginning on May 21 and will be available “while supplies last.”

What supplies, you ask?

The treat, which is meant to be “sweet — just like grandma,” according to the news release, is made with “delicious syrup and chopped, crunchy candy pieces” as well as the restaurant’s vanilla soft-serve ice cream.

McDonald’s likened the candy to “grandma’s favourite treat that she hid in her purse.”

Naturally, that had people on social media guessing what it would actually taste like, with most users assuming butterscotch would be the star.

Others guessed strawberry hard candy and Ovaltine while another joked, “THEY BLENDED UP MEEMAWW.”

View this post on Instagram A post shared by McDonald’s (@mcdonalds)

One person added: “The Grandma McFlurry doesn’t taste anything like two packs of Marlboro Reds and a big wooden spoon she’d use to hit me.”

The creation of the Grandma McFlurry was spearheaded by a McDonald’s worker who is a grandmother herself.

“She was relentless in perfecting a deliciously craveable treat meant to evoke special memories with grandma or the grandma-figure in your life, drawing from her own experiences,” Marcelo Fajnerman, McDonald’s vice president of menu strategy, said.

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McDonald’s chief marketing and customer experience officer Tariq Hassan added that grandmothers are “having a major moment influencing culture” whether it’s in fashion or food.

“The Grandma McFlurry tastes like a trip down memory lane, and we’re excited to give our fans that experience while honouring the grandma-figure in all our lives.”

McDonald’s Canada did not get back to us on whether the Grandma McFlurry will hit Canadian restaurants.

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