作文需要我们有独立思考和创新能力，不要简单套用模板和陈词滥调，通过写作文可以培养我们的思维敏感性和逻辑思维能力，以下是好文笔小编精心为您推荐的怀念我的爷爷作文6篇，供大家参考。
怀念我的爷爷作文篇1
生命中不可能都是风平浪静的，通常在无风无雨之后，随之而来都是狂风暴雨，无情的肆虐，肆虐着自己平静的心；而挫折亦然，常常还未体会完开心的余韵，那痛彻心扉的苦就已充满了嘴里，就如同一杯黑咖啡，苦得令人心酸、令人心痛。但在苦完之后，喝一杯纯净得白开水，就会得到世界上最美妙的甘甜。
小学六年级，对许多的初中生而言是一段最美的回忆；但对我来说，六年即是一段痛得令人咋舌的日子。但其实我六年级初时我也和同学一样憧憬初中的生活，甚至 希望时间能如飞梭一般，快速飞跃至上初中的第一天。但好景不常，在某天我上完英语课，兴高采烈地踏上归家的路途时，爸爸接到了来自老家的电话，甫一说完 他便不发一语的将车子掉头，朝老家的方向飞驰而去，刚下车便飞速往爷爷的房间离去，而我在看到爸爸离去的方向时，也想去一探究竟却被其它的长辈拦住，我恼怒的望向他们，突然见进爷爷房间的亲友鱼贯出来，我急切地寻找那令我敬爱的爷爷的身影，但却徒劳无功，只听见一人说爷爷已殁，我如同一个人偶，石化了，也碎了。
未来的两个月，我几乎可以用行尸走肉来形容，已没有了当初想快点进初中心情，只希望时间能重来，让我在一次享受那温暖大手牵着的温馨，以及刻满岁月痕迹的脸对我露出的和蔼笑容，但一切都已化为尘埃，幻灭了。我痛恨我自己当时没有陪在爷爷身边，也痛恨自己在求学之后就很少陪爷爷谈心，而这些想法也一直困扰着我直到我看了一本叫在天堂遇见的五个人的书，这本书使我明白了死亡并不是结束，而是一个新的开始，也使我深信了爷爷能过得很好，而自己也要过得很好才不会 使已离去的人伤心。
现在，我已是一个近豆蔻年华的少女，在这些年中爷爷一直是我的动力，而爷爷也会一直存于我心中直至永远，他–就是我永远的偶像。
怀念我的爷爷作文篇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。
怀念我的爷爷作文篇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。
怀念我的爷爷作文篇4
回到家中，空荡荡的，奶奶依旧在厨房忙碌，左手边的屋子中少了那句：“大学生回来啦！”觉得好怀念，怀念他陪我走过的那九年。
再也不会有他给我买零食的场景，再也不会有他手把手教我写毛笔字的时刻，再也不会有我一进门随之而来的招呼，那都过去了。书法，那是他搬来之后，每天必练的。他在我小时候曾教过我，后来就陪我去学，顺便也学一点。柳公权、欧阳询的楷体，他几乎都会练到。我总不把这事放在心上，他却如此重视。我考过的六级证书，他放在桌子上，为了可以天天看到。隶书初期时，他心脏不太好，也就不再陪我了，我依旧不放在心上。那年我没考级，也很后悔，因为我没能让他看到我考过八级。就在那个夏天，我还在上书法课，妈妈把我拉回了家，郑重其事地告诉我：“你爷爷去世了。”我一下就懵了，抓着妈妈的手大哭了起来。我就恨我自己，为什么不好好学书法，为什么不好好练字？为时已晚。如今我就要自己临摹《兰亭序》了，我要把最好的，放着他写的字中间，当作迟到的礼物。
算算看，爷爷已经离我们而去四年了，翻开柜子，还能看到他一笔一划为我记的成绩。上一年级的时候，他总会在我放学的车站点等我，然后拿着我的书包，跟在我的后面，走到小超市，为我掏钱买零食，然后拉着我一步一步走回家。二年级的我渐渐长大了，把他远远地甩在身后，他总是笑着说：“等等哎！”我总当耳旁风，不顾一切的向前跑去。三年级那年，我当选了市三好，他看到之后很高兴地看着我，摸着我的小脑袋，说：“不错哟！长大以后一定有出息！”我暗下决心把以后做得更好，却没想到他再也看不到了。
他离开我们那天，是六月十四日，我记得很清楚，姑姑在本子上写下了“六月十四日，伤逝”。那一刻我才意识到，我再也看不到他了。
他最喜欢听我练琴了，而如今，只有我一个人，坐在钢琴前，默默地弹，但愿在天堂他能够听到，但愿在天堂的他一切安好！
怀念我的爷爷作文篇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.
怀念我的爷爷作文篇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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