A Change of Heart Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

A Change of Heart Stepping through the revolving glass doors of the hospital felt like entering a completely different world. With my arms crossed over my chest, I followed my parents though the never-ending, eggshell white hallways. My nostrils burned from the fumes of cleaners and sterility. Lovely paintings and luscious plants filled the walkways, trying to mask the hollow, empty feeling that most visitors felt. We passed two types of people along the way to our destination: the kind that strolled by while flashing everyone big, cheery smiles, and the people who kept their gaze straight ahead ignoring your mere existence; I preferred the latter. I did not belong in this place. This was a place for the sick, a place where people went to die. My grandfather did not belong here. We continued walking as my thoughts slipped away to a more pleasant time in my life. I pictured our family tradition of traveling to my grandparents' home every Sunday afternoon. Their quaint little home, white washed with baby blue shutters welcomed any stranger and had a faint honeysuckle aroma that soothed the weariest of souls. We ate lunch together with my grandfather and grandmother sitting like kings and queens at opposite ends of the table. Then everyone gathered in the family room and spent the late afternoon playing games and catching up on the big events of the week. My grandfather spent his time playing with each grandchild one at a time so we would feel special. Anyone could tell that he loved his job as a grandparent. His eyes twinkled with delight and his smile never faded as he spent time with us. He loved throwing us up in the air with his powerful arms, until we squealed with delight as our stomachs flew above our heads. ... ... take a step forward. The situation glimmered with a stream of hope. Reaching his hand out to me, I edged even closer and placed my hand atop his. At that moment, I knew that everything would turn out okay. My grandfather had changed physically but not mentally. I needed his smile to assure me of that. A calming feeling came over me as I walked through the revolving doors and out of the hospital into the bright sunshine. Removing the 200 pounds of iron that sat on my heart and leaving behind the massive building which housed the source of my troubles felt welcoming. I walked away from the situation knowing that my grandfather's personality or love for me did not change. However, my attitude shifted from looking at my grandfather as not being acceptable, to understanding that the only thing that had changed was his physical appearance; he was still the same.