Write a descriptive essay on My Grandparents 50 Anniversay Celebrations.
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colors of the night blossomed like gorgeous flowers in an arboretum on the memorable evening of my grandparents' fiftieth anniversary. Patiently, my extended family and I stood outside the door of my grandparents' house, clad in formal attire as we waited for everyone so we could depart to church as one. Although there was great mirth on that occasion, I feel a great wound in my heart that complicates the relation of this significant moment in my life. The memory of my grandparent's fiftieth anniversary is now soured because that was the last time in my life that I saw my grandfather.
Because of the great distance and expensive air fare rates between Dallas and Mexico City, I am sequestered from my family. I am blessed with the opportunity to frequent my family only once a year during Christmas. Every year I subconsciously realize that that might be the last time that I see my aging grandparents. "Why?"—we inquire—"Why do things happen? Why can one decision end our lives? Why is life so unfair? Why did my grandfather choose to trim the trees one day? Why did he have to fall off a ladder and injure his head? Why was he on a respirator? Why did he have to die? Why can our lives be taken?" "Because it was meant to happen," my wiser half always replies, "Because we do not govern our own lives, because our lives do not belong to us. We can not possibly understand all of the mysteries of life and death unless they are revealed to us." We live our lives blindly pretending to understand the meaning of death. If we are to truly contemplate this mystery, we must first understand love, the ultimate purpose of life. Death is always imminent, yet it prefers to strike the unexpected like a tsunami that we see coming but can not escape from. Had I known that was the last time I would see him, I would have conversed more with him, but all that I can do now is to try and live by the lessons of gratitude that he taught me.
I stand in that night in my life today, rejoicing at the tremendous love and bliss. My heart swells with the waves of an ocean, lamenting the death of my grandfather, and the sun rises in the east tranquilizing the tempest of my heart by inspiring me with hope. How can I possibly relate such a cheerful occasion, when I am in a state of melancholy? It is with this hope and the love of his memory that I find the strength, and in honor of him I shall relate the culmination of his entire life. On the night of my grandparents' fiftieth anniversary, the seeds of hard work that he had planted all of his life were reaped, and there was a great cause for celebration.
A long caravan of cars drove up to the church parking lot. Florescent magenta, delicate hues of rosy pink, pastel jade, silky silver, plum and black dresses with light sweaters to cover themselves from the cold, accompanied with glistening jewelry, contrasted by azure and black solid and pinstriped suits with elegant neck ties, painted an effervescent picture on the dark canvass of night as we gradually followed my jovial grandparents, arms interlocked, in an ordered regal procession and entered a church full of welcoming relatives that was ringing with the distinctive sound of an organ playing Edward Elgar's "Pomp and Circumstance." Mass was the ultimate commemoration of my grandparents' fiftieth anniversary that night. Fifty years ago they had vowed to live together until death separated them, and they did. We listened attentively to the homily and then each grandchild delivered a brief, informal speech honoring our grandparents. Diminutive flowers were placed in my cousin's tender hands, and she presented them to our grandmother. The Mass closed with a successive multitude of irregular white gleams of light as cameras snapped and clicked in every direction, making me uncertain as to which direction I should face. With the conclusion of the Mass we departed the church in a state of revelry.