Personal Narrative: The Last Olympian By Rick Riordan

It was a normal spring day for California during the drought, unbearably hot. Although my family was inside Saint Michael’s Church, attending Sunday Mass, we could still feel the heat. I couldn’t even tell if the air conditioner. The church looked beautiful as the sun glowed through the stain glass windows, but it felt like an oven in there. Many women had brought hand fans and were fanning themselves, trying to cool off. It felt even warmer because there were a lot of people attending Mass. My family had to split up, so we could all find a place to sit. Sitting next to me was my grandmother and two of my older brothers. “A reading to the Gospel according to Mark,” said the deacon. As he continued to read, my mind drifted off. The warm weather made me feel drowsy, and I had hard time trying to focus. In my head, I thought about The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan. I had just finished reading it, and I loved it. Because I was daydreaming, I didn’t notice the deacon had finished

I was constantly fretting about my grandmother’s safety. While I was waiting for Mass to finish, I cried a little bit because I didn’t know if everything was going to be all right. I care for my grandmother a lot because she is my only grandparent alive. Since she lives all the way in the Philippines, I rarely get to see her. We never realize how much we care for a person, until they are almost gone. My grandmother was only suffering from a heat stroke, but I didn’t know that. During Mass, I prayed for my grandmother’s health because I didn’t want to lose her like the rest of my grandparents. That experience taught me that loved ones are precious. Nobody knows when they are going to die or get seriously ill, so we shouldn’t take anyone for granted. We should enjoy every moment with those whom we love because our time with them is not endless. The love of family is life’s greatest