Grandma Drawing Novels & Stories

“We want to show you the drawings we made for Grandpa.” “Oh, I’d love that.” She chuckles, her pearl earrings catching the light as she looks up at Alex. “Can I borrow them for a few minutes?” Alex smiles, though I can see the strain at the corners of his mouth. “Of course. Just don’t wear them out too much.” “Never.” As they start walking down the hallway, Bernard runs ahead, his small voice echoing. “Wait, Grandma! My drawing has a lion!” “A lion?” she says, amused. “Then it must be the fiercest one in the jungle.”

she asks. “Absolutely. Let’s start with basic physics.” Football grabs Peter right — he’s only seven. A ball at his feet feels like home, maybe more. “Can we play, Grandma?” “Baby, I’m fifty-two. I can watch you play.” “That’s boring.” “That’s reality.” Five years old, Hannah draws just like her granddad used to. Her aunt sketches too — family habit, maybe. Out of nowhere, she waves a painting at me. Here’s something I cooked up, her smile says without words.

"Mine was different from everyone else's." I unfolded it. She'd drawn it carefully. David and me at the center. Isabella, Alex, Claudia branching below. Mrs. Kane and Mr. Thomas on David's side. And on my side— Two figures. Labeled in her careful seven-year-old handwriting. *Grandma Catherine. Grandpa William.* Drawn with the same detail she'd given everyone else. Present in the tree. Branches intact. Below them, in smaller writing: *I never met them but they made Mama so they're part of my tree too.*

Grandpa Scott held the torn pieces of the drawing paper in his hand and threw them into the trash. "I'm going to take a nap. I'm exhausted." Bianca hugged her drawing supplies and walked back to her room. After hearing the door close, Francesco's Adam's apple moved slightly. When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. "What do they look like?" "See for yourself." Grandpa Scott opened his phone gallery. On the screen was a secretly photographed image of the drawing. Bianca was good at drawing, and her skills were impressive. The two babies she had drawn looked adorable.

Lily was coloring at the counter, her tongue sticking out in concentration. “Good morning,” Kira said. Elena turned and smiled. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” “I did.” “Coffee?” “Please.” Her mother poured her a cup and handed it to her. Kira took a sip and sat down next to Lily. “What are you drawing, baby?” Lily held up her paper. It was a picture of a house with stick figures in front. “That’s us. You, me, Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle Marcus.”

“Diane made biscuits.” Noah was inside before she finished the sentence. Zoe stopped and looked up at Victoria. “Grandma,” she said. “I drew our house.” “Did you now,” Victoria said. “Yes.” Zoe held up the drawing. “Do you want it?” Victoria looked at the drawing for a moment. “Very much,” she said, and took it carefully, the way she took things that mattered, and I watched her look at it properly, the east windows, the garden, the four small figures, and I watched something move across her face that she did not try to hide.

I say closing my eyes, waiting for the shouting. "Oh, hell no, I am not letting some little boy fresh out of leather pants school, dictate where I'm going to go every day." Grandma says rising form her chair. She is sporting another of her famous moo moo's which she swears allows her to move around quicker. This one has a black and white zebra print design all over it.

I asked. "You. Daddy. Me." She pointed. "And that's the sun. And that's a flower. And that's—" She frowned at the corner of the page. "That's a lady. I don't know her name." I looked at the figure she'd added. A fourth stick figure, off to the side, watching. Something caught in my throat. "That's your grandmother," I said quietly. "Clara. The one you're named after." Clara studied the drawing. "She's watching us?"

"They can no longer tell the stories I see. But your hands... they are young. They are hungry." ​Tobi reached out, tentatively touching a stick of 'Burnt Sienna.' ​"If the sand in your throat won't let the words out," Grandpa whispered, leaning in close, "let the colors shout for you. Don't just draw what you see, Tobi. Draw how it sounds. Draw how it feels to be the only one listening." ​Tobi took the charcoal. He looked at the mango tree, then at his Grandpa. He didn't say thank you with his voice, but his eyes sparkled with a sudden, electric clarity.

“Nooo, I’m being super good! We made cookies today—chocolate chip, your favorite! Grandpa burned some, though. He said a bad word, and I told him he owes me a dollar.” I grinned, picturing Emerson’s sheepish face, his kitchen disasters legendary. “Oh, you got him good, huh? You saving those dollars for something special?” “Yup!” she said, her voice conspiratorial. “I’m gonna buy a new art set, the one with all the sparkly paints. But, Mommy, you gotta come home soon, ‘cause I need you to draw with me. Grandpa’s drawings are terrible.” “Hey, be nice to Grandpa,” I teased, my heart swelling. “He’s trying. What else is new, baby? Tell me everything.”