Its 11:13 am
Its been a while since the cheetah and I have hosted a guest writer here. Its actually something I rather like doing because one of the huge perks of having a cheetah as a co-writer is we meet some seriously good writers (even we if are Yankees fans). Its always a pleasure when someone we invite comes by and drops off a entry.
Rhiannon is a writer-author based in Austria. She has written over 10 books and is the owner of the blog “Writing As A Hobby” which you can visit by clicking on the title. As you can see,Rhiannon loves cats and especially her cat,Carry,who runs the house while Rhiannon creates and writes. For her debut piece here,Rhiannon decided to write about grandparents……feel free to drop a comment or share a story about your own grandparents.
Some time ago, I lost my beloved grandmother. She was a wonderful person with her heart in the right place. She always had time for me, my worries and needs.
She taught me so much, brought me the love of cats and green. With her and my grandfather, we often went to pick mushrooms, which we then cooked into a delicious meal.
Grandparents are something wonderful. They no longer have the »compulsion« to educate the children, relieve the parents and are usually happy to have the kids around.
Children, on the other hand, are usually happy to be with their grandparents, as they are often allowed enough more and sometimes get something from them.
It gets even harder when a beloved grandmother or a wonderful grandfather leaves us alone. We know that they get older, frailer and than they disappear from life. Then comes the mourning phase in which this loss is processed.
Last but not least we make our peace because we feel that they are still around us.
Many cultures around the globe worship their ancestors and ask them for advice. They believe that the different people are still in good faith around them and are taking care of their concerns.
Whether someone believes in it or not does matter. It is a wonderful thought becoming protected by them, like an angel. Does it matter if they are really here or it is our imagination?
When my grandmother passed away, I wrote her a letter. In it, I expressed my feelings for her and how important she was to me. For me, it was a work of mourning. When I burned the note I had the feeling she stood smiling next to me. Maybe it was imagination – but does it matter? It’s always our own decision about how we say goodbye to our grandparents when they leave.