我裤子穿上后，直接跑去爷爷家，我们与爷爷家不远，院子里，三个花圈写着：沉痛哀悼谭永录老人去世。我跑进来，看到了灵堂，遗像，我懵懂了，这，这是真的吗？我的眼泪留下来了，手里拿着军训奖状与勋章的手掉了下来，妈妈替我请了假，我“通”的一声跪在前面，双腿无力，我躺到床上，留着眼泪睡着了……（想骂我骂吧，我真的太累了，五天没睡觉了请读者原谅）

第二天早上，家里来了许多人，奶奶一晚上没睡觉，我哭着说“如果我不去军训陪着爷爷多好！”可事实不能改变一切，坐上灵车，抱着爷爷的遗像，不争气的眼泪流了下来，到了乌鲁木齐市殡仪馆，我早已泣不成声，送完爷爷，我哭着坐车回家了……

第二天，我带着孝，来到教室，听见他们说我家死人了，我冲过去一把拽住他的领子，他继续说，我把他摁在地上打了一顿，我发狂了，我竟不知道哪来的力量，班里8个男生拉我，全被我撂倒了，我学过散打，他们不是我的对手，事后，老师让我道歉，我一句话不说，老师最后来了一句“你要不说，我让你爸爸带你回家！”结果，我来了一句“回就回，我不怕，他该。”老师气的无语了，让我下次注意，新来学校的我，刚上初中，就打架。我不管了，班里同学知道我发狂了，但没料到会这么大，要知道，我军训时软弱的像小鸡仔一样，通过这件事，他们开始敬佩我……

爷爷，我一看到一放学，爷爷接孙子时，两行热泪掉了下来。

爷爷我想你了你在那边想我吗？

写怀念我的爷爷的作文篇2

夕阳的余晖在指尖没落，悲怆得如同一次庄严的血色祭奠，挽歌于殇。在爷爷逝世的那天黄昏，我匆匆地赶回家乡，车站处看见那样残缺又磅礴夕照，沉甸甸地在我心头落下，一如爷爷的死讯。

终究，还是没能让他再见我……

泪水从我眼角滑落的刹那，我忆起小时候。曾经，我指着上弦月不满地问：“为什么月亮不圆?”曾经，我指着被秋风卷落的长街枯叶不甘地问：“为什么绿叶会枯?”爷爷也曾笑答：“因为它们要美丽啊。”

那时的我，并不懂为什么是这个答案。现在，爷爷的遗照就在眼前，他是笑得那样慈祥，似乎只是在那泛着木香的长盒子里安静地睡着了。“是的，它们要美丽啊。只有残缺的遗憾，才能融化自古文人墨客的情思，让他们写出或感伤悲悯或磅礴庄严的诗歌如画。”

我轻轻地笑了，指尖埋没进浅浅的祭烟犹如秋蝶。“人有悲欢离合，月有阴晴圆缺，此事古难全。”我曾在课业里背过东坡的这首《水调歌头》。彼时的我，眸里倒映的只有“学习和成绩”，看不透千年前诗人的情感，品不了千年前月圆月缺时遗憾的旷远美丽。月无华，心亦冷。若月掩下光华，谁的心才会真正地冰凉?我以为的不眠夜，最后的最后，还是在火车的哐当声中在梦境里远去。因为我觉得，和爷爷的错过，是一种遗憾，也是一种美丽，梦里能相见。

“叶的离开，是风的追求，还是树的不挽留?”诗集浸湿了泪意，爷爷的离去是上天注定的吗?我没有挽留住答案，毕竟不同于秋叶飘零，曼珠沙华在爷爷身上绽放时，我不幸又幸运地没有看见。这是一种对我心灵的完美呵护。

写怀念我的爷爷的作文篇3

指尖滑过白杨粗糙的树皮，心中回想的却是爷爷的手掌，同样的厚实、心安。

小时候，我总是抓着爷爷的手睡觉。抓住了，就不再放开。我在黑暗中，一点一点地分辨爷爷手心的纹路。“我给你讲个故事吧？”故事讲得很慢，几乎是一字一顿地续着。夜静极了，我能听到风摩挲过树叶的声音。故事的内容我已经不记得了，只记得，一次又一次，我翻了个身，就迷迷糊糊睡着了。

大点了，我便牵着爷爷的手到处跑。每当跑得累了，爷爷就会用手把我抱起，一步一顿地走，走得很慢。在杨树的叶影下，我一点点感受爷爷掌心的温度，踏实，平实，温暖。透过树叶播洒下来的阳光，我已经忘了个干净，只记得我望着白杨粗陋的树皮，爷爷望着我。

在白杨的荫蔽下，我感受着一年四季的的温度。望向白杨，它的树皮，在十年的风雨中更加厚重了。偶一回头，那慈和的笑脸，却在十年的风雨中不再。闭上眼，伸出手，触摸树皮，感受每一道纹路。同样的抚摸，却不再有曾经的故事，只有风摩挲过树叶的声音。

那辆三轮车，爷爷以前常骑着它，带我四处去玩。透过塑料的小窗，我看到了三轮车以外一切的美好，新奇，新鲜。车子就停在白杨树下，这是爷爷的`习惯。车子依偎着白杨树，白杨密密匝匝的枝叶笼罩着车子。就像我和爷爷。

年幼的我，就这么坦坦荡荡地享受着爷爷带给我的惬意和自由。我牵着爷爷的手，爷爷总在我身旁。可那些触手可得东西，今天竟变成了再也无法触及的回忆。

我在白杨树下，细细触摸着它粗糙的枝干，感受并品味每一寸的经络。就像触摸爷爷的大手，感受爷爷掌心的纹路。爷爷已经不在了，可他的爱，却如白杨一样，扎根在土地里，埋藏在我心间。

我用指尖，细致地努力地分辨着白杨的树皮，就像触摸爷爷的爱。

写怀念我的爷爷的作文篇4

20xx年4月5日，我家的邻居李爷爷去世了，享年82岁。虽然李爷爷已经离开我们已经一年多了，但李爷爷的音容笑貌一直深深地印在我的脑海，他往日疼爱我的一幕幕仿佛还在昨天。

清明节到了，我的爸爸领我去小卖部买祭品。选了些李爷爷生前爱吃的食物。然后爸爸就带我去扫墓了。我站在那里，看着李爷爷的照片，回忆着我和李爷爷过去的美好时光，我不禁潸然泪下。

记得在我小的时候，李爷爷每次去钓鱼都会带上我，那天我们还像往常一样坐在小桥上钓鱼，正当李爷爷全神贯注的盯着鱼竿的时候，我偷偷的跑进了树林，树林里空气清新，阳光明媚，还有许多鸟儿，有画眉鸟，杜鹃鸟等等。就在这时，我听见咔咔咔……的声音，我左瞧瞧右瞧瞧，寻找声音的来源，找了半天才看见原来是一只大鸟在啄树干。我于是捡起一块石头正准备砸像那只大鸟。不知什么时候，李爷爷竟站在我的身后，轻声细语地说：“这是啄木鸟”它是益鸟，他能给树治病，专吃树木内的蛀虫。人称“森林医生”常年生活在茂密的森林里，是森林的保护神，是人类的好朋友，所以我们要爱护它。说着说着，李爷爷就抱着我走出了树林，李爷爷还和我讲了许多关于啄木鸟的知识。当我们走出树林时，才发现已经是黄昏了，李爷爷把我带到商店，给我买了蛋糕，还有许多我最爱的零食，随后我们就回家了。

花朵悄悄的谢了，谢了的花朵不会回来，就像人的生命走了的再也不会回来，但可以怀念。李爷爷感谢您对我的爱，对我的照顾。风儿啊！请你把我的话吹给天上的李爷爷。去给另一个世界的李爷爷吧！

写怀念我的爷爷的作文篇5

he always rose early to enjoy at least two hours of solitude in the house and garden before the rest of the family came down in winter he spent most of the time reading and writing. in sum mer he liked to get out of doors to work in the kitchen garden or to take the dog for a walk in the neighbouring woods and fields whatever the weather, there was plenty to occupy him.

although he was a creature of habit, there seemed to be an infinite variety in his pursuits. he wrote book reviews regularly for two of the national weeklies. he worked conscientiously his special subject, indian history, and was thus one of the world authorities on it;

he collected modern abstract paintings and so had a circle of friends amongst artists and sculptors; there was hardly anything he did not know about traditional jazz and he often entertained both british and america n jazz musicians he was a superb cook and knew a lot about french and german food.

his family adored him and in a sense he was spoiled by them. at first glance you would have taken him for a retired army officer-his bearing was erect, his hair was cut short, he was fussy about his clothes, which were always neat, clean and conventional. he liked to keep fit, and this was reflected in his clear, steady blue eyes and healthy suntanned complexion. he hardly ever watched tv, but enjoyed a good film and an occasional evening at the theatre.

写怀念我的爷爷的作文篇6

when memory began for me, my grandfather was past sixty-a great tall man with thick hair becoming gray. he had black eyes and a straight nose which ended in a slightly flattened tip. once he explained seriously to me that he got that flattened tip as a small child when he fell down and stepped on his nose.

the little marks of laughter at the corners of his eyes were the prodnct of a kindly and humorous nature. the years of work which had bent his shoulders had never dulled his humour nor his love of a joke.

everywhere he went, "gramp" made friends easily. at the end of half an hour you felt you had known him all your life. i soon learned that he hated to give orders , but that when he had to, he tried to make his orders sound like suggestions.

one july morning, as he was leaving to go to the cornfield, he said : "edwin, you can pick up the potatoes in the field today if you want to do that. " then he drove away with his horses.

the day passed, and i did not have any desire to pick up potatoes. evening came and the potatoes were still in the field. gramp, dusty and tired, led the horses to get their drink.

"how many bags of potatoes were there?" gramp inquired. "i don't know. "

"how many potatoes did you pick up?"

"i didn't pick any. " "not any! why not?"

"you said i could pick, them up if i wanted to. you didn't say i had to. "

in the next few minutes i learned a lesson i would not forget: when gramp said i could if i wanted to, he meant that i should want to.

gram hated cruelty and injustice. the injustices of history, even those of a thousand years before, angered her as much as the injustices of her own day.

she also had a deep love of beauty. when she was almost seventy-five, and had gone to live with one of her daughters, she spent a delightful morning washing dishes because, as she said, the beautiful patterns on the dishes gave her pleasure. the bird, the flowers, the clouds-all that was beautiful around her- pleased her. she was like the father of the french painter, millet, who used to gather grass and show it to his son , saying , "see how beautif ul this is ! "

in a pioneer society it is the harder qualities of mind and character that are of value. the softer virtues are considered unnecessary. men and women struggling daily to earn a living are unable, even for a moment, to forget the business of preserving their lives. only unusual people, like my grandparents, manage to keep the softer qualities in a world of daily struggle.

such were the two people with whom i spent the months from june to september in the wonderful days of summer and youth.

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