Personal Narrative: The Little Brown Ranch House Changed My Life

On a warm, early-June day, I found myself packing my things. In a small duffel bag, I stuffed in a few days’ clothes and my personal toiletries, then shuffled out of my bright blue and silver room, down the flight of stairs, and, only pausing to tell my parents I was leaving, out the door. Within a few minutes, I pulled my shiny red car into the drive of the place I would live for the next few years, though I didn’t know it then. The little brown ranch house facilitated most of my weekends and childhood summers for years, but I’d never thought it might evolutionize into my permanent home. In a few short weeks, heartbreaking news and the beginning of a long struggle would transform the lives of myself and my family. My grandparents, living in that little brown ranch house, played a huge role in my early life, often my biggest supporters and role models. So when my eighty-three year old grandmother was told less than a month later that her congestive heart failure left her with less than six months to live unless she chose to have open heart surgery, I was devastated. She had vowed to never do it, leaving me to think I was bound to lose one of my best friends. Less than a month later, she

I learned so many things in the past year, how to take care of myself as well as someone else, how to smile when I’m weary, how to multitask and keep working towards my goals even when there are more pressing things in the immediate future. Most of all, it taught me to have compassion. Witnessing my grandmother’s struggle made me realize just how momentous other people’s troubles can be, even if I have never experienced them or anything like them myself. Though this experience has been the greatest fight I’ve fought in my young life, stretching my capabilities to their maximum, it has been the defining event of my life. For that, I am eternally grateful to the problems I’ve faced in this struggle as well as the supportive people who surround