I’ve got this rich collection of memories with my grandparents. Isn’t it curious how we often end up closer to one side of the family? In my case, it was my mom’s folks. Not that I didn’t adore my dad’s parents, but things just clicked differently with them. So this post is for my maternal grandparents, for all the moments we shared and the memories we made. As the days go by, I find myself thinking of them more and more, and I really miss them.
Maybe I was so at ease with my grandparents because they already had four kids of their own and were pros at having little ones around. Or perhaps it was the way they always made me feel so loved and valued whenever I visited. My parents hail from a different part of the country and relocated for work, which meant our family was pretty far-flung. Weekends and holidays were spent at our vacation home, and that’s when we’d go on a whirlwind of visits with relatives. But the highlight for me was always those few days I got to spend at my grandparents’ house, just me and them. It wasn’t that they didn’t want all the grandkids over at once; they intentionally chose to host us one at a time. That way, they could focus on the interests and wishes of each grandchild, crafting special days just for us. And honestly, I relished the break from my siblings – not out of any lack of love, but because my time with my grandparents was special. It was OUR time. We’d do the activities I enjoyed, eat at my favorite restaurants, and they’d whip up the dishes I loved the most.
My grandpa was a real whiz in the kitchen; he loved cooking up a storm for the whole family. I think those hours he spent cooking might have been his own kind of meditation, his way of unwinding and doing what he loved. Grandma, on the other hand, was pretty much exiled from the kitchen during these times, not that she ever seemed to mind. Knowing I was a total pasta fiend, the first meal Grandpa would whip up during my visits was his signature Spaghetti Napoli, always with an extra generous helping of cheese (I’m a bit of a cheese fanatic, you see). And after polishing off a hearty plate of pasta, it was time for dessert. My grandparents always kept a stash of biscuits and sweets just for us grandkids. Post-dinner, we’d clear the table, wash up, and then the real fun began. They had this drawer in the living room, right next to their collection of whiskey and fine spirits, where they displayed all the biscuits. Each evening, I got to pick out whatever I wanted – a little tradition I absolutely adored. Then we’d settle down to watch the evening news together. Picture this: little me, cozied up with my grandparents, taking in the day’s events and just soaking up our time together. After the news, it was board game time with Grandma. Grandpa would catch some sports on TV and occasionally join in, but I think he liked giving Grandma and me our space, considering he and I had plenty of one-on-one time during the day. After a few rounds of intense gameplay, we’d wind down for the night. I’d get ready for bed, and then my grandparents would pop into my room to tuck me in with goodnight kisses.
I’d usually wake up to the heavenly scent of croissants baking in the oven. Grandma knew they were my favorite, so she always made sure they were the first thing I smelled in the morning. And at home, we never had the “real” Nutella (you know, the kind everyone raves about but nobody seems to have grown up with), but at their house, Grandma always had the genuine article waiting for me.
Breakfast was followed by a trip to the grocery store with Granddad, which was always an adventure in itself. He was one of those guys who knew everyone, and the moment we stepped into the mall, he’d be caught up in conversations with friends left and right. I never minded – it was fun to shop with him, and I loved watching him in his element, chatting away, sharing stories about me, and discussing our plans for the day. When we finally made it to the grocery store, it was always a good time. He had my tastes down pat but still made a point of involving me in every food-related decision. It was our special time together, just the two of us, while Grandma took a break back at the house.
Our adventures weren’t just limited to the mall and their home. We had plenty of escapades, like taking boat rides on the nearby lake – where I’d always order tomato juice, a favorite that’s stuck with me over the years. Back when my grandparents were a bit younger and still had their train passes, we’d go on all sorts of excursions to places close by. And we always made sure to fit in at least one restaurant visit during my stay. There was this one dish, a regional specialty, that you could only find at a certain restaurant in town. That place was our favorite haunt until it closed down, and then we had to scout out new spots. We found a cozy Italian place and a restaurant known for its seafood. Sometimes, we’d just wander around the city, maybe do a little shopping. This was back in the days of flip phones and topping up prepaid SIM cards, so my grandparents would always make sure I had enough credit to text my friends. After a full day out, there was nothing like coming home to unwind. Granddad would be at the kitchen table, lost in his crossword puzzles or sorting through his stamp collection – and we’d always keep an eye out for things to add to it. Grandma, meanwhile, would be curled up in her big armchair, completely absorbed in her latest book. As for me, I’d be engrossed in my Game Boy or buried in a book of my own.
As the years went by and life inevitably got busier, I still made it a priority to visit my grandparents regularly. There was something so comforting about hopping on the train to their town, whether it was to stay overnight or just pop in for lunch or a quick coffee. I always sent them postcards from my travels, which they proudly displayed, and I never forgot to bring back some fine whiskey, a treat they both cherished.
The time I spent with them was precious, and it didn’t lose its charm as I grew up. I still loved our board game marathons and settling in together to watch the news or a game show. It’s those simple moments that stick with you. I can’t quite explain it, but I was always at my most relaxed with them. I could chat with them about anything – Grandma was an amazing listener and her advice was always spot on. She never passed judgment, and she made a point of telling me how proud she was of my accomplishments. Those words meant the world to me, especially since they weren’t something I heard all that often back at my own home.
My grandparents were the definition of self-reliant. Right up until the end, they lived in their own apartment, managing all their daily tasks and cooking for themselves. They were each other’s rock, always stepping up to care for one another whenever health issues arose. In hindsight, that’s got to be what true love looks like. I can still picture the way Granddad would gaze at Grandma, and the way her face lit up with a smile whenever she was with him. Their love for each other was so full and genuine, and you could see it in every look, every gesture. Now, a few years on as I write this post about them, I realize that’s the kind of love I aspire to have – not just the romantic kind they shared, but also the deep, unconditional love they had for me. And I know, without a doubt, that’s the kind of love I want in my life too.
When COVID hit, like everyone else, my grandparents faced their own set of challenges. Their age meant they had to isolate, and the lack of freedom really impacted them. Their health began to decline, and things took a turn when Granddad had an accident at home and ended up in the hospital. They were both admitted, and it was painfully obvious they were suffering.
As time went on, it became clear that Granddad didn’t have much time left. My brothers and I had a trip planned as travel restrictions started to ease, but before we left, we made sure to visit him one last time. Seeing him there, frail and exhausted, yet still recognizing me and sharing a few words, was heart-wrenching. I had to fight to keep the tears at bay. Even in that state, he remained positive, telling me he loved me and assuring me it was okay to let him go. Just writing this brings those emotions rushing back. We said our goodbyes and went on our trip, but towards the end, we received the call we’d been dreading. Granddad had passed away. We scrambled to change our travel plans, determined to be back in time for his funeral. It wasn’t a religious service, as that wasn’t their way. Just a small gathering of family, but it was incredibly tough to say that final farewell. For me, at least, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
After Granddad passed, Grandma moved into a retirement home with a view of the lake. It was tough for her at first; she missed him terribly and struggled to settle in. But as time went on, she found her rhythm again, diving back into her books, and I made sure to visit whenever I could. The last vivid memory I have of her was when my siblings and I went to see her. We spoke with the staff and arranged to take her out to a café by the lake, just to give her a change of scenery. We drove her there and spent a few peaceful hours together. She was so touched that we’d do something like that for her, but to us, it was a no-brainer – she and Granddad had done so much for us throughout our lives. We chatted about everything under the sun, and she soaked up our stories, her smile genuine and full of love. Eventually, she too passed away, and dealing with that loss was another heavy blow for me.
I’ve got a photo of my grandparents hanging on the dining room wall, which makes it feel like they’re always here with me. Every time I glance at it, I can’t help but smile. Over the past few years, as I’ve faced various struggles, I’ve often wished they were still around. I know they would’ve been the perfect confidants – always ready to listen, to be there for me, and to offer encouragement and perspective.
Flipping through my journal, I frequently stumble upon entries expressing how much I miss them and how loved they made me feel. That sense of loss inspired me to get a tattoo in their honor. They always had this special nickname for me, and they’d use it in the letters they sent for my birthdays and Christmases. So, I took one of those cards and now have that nickname etched on my arm in my grandma’s handwriting. It’s like carrying a little piece of them with me wherever I go. Whenever I’m hit with that wave of missing them, I just look at my tattoo and it’s almost like I can feel their presence.
Looking back, my grandparents were always my heroes, both when I was a kid and even now as I reflect. They were the ones who always went the extra mile for me, enveloped me in genuine love, lent an ear to my troubles, and seemed to have a solution for everything. They had my back, no matter what. And they were heroes in the way they loved each other so deeply and without condition. Sometimes, I catch myself wishing I could just hop on the next train, meet them at our favorite restaurant, and catch them up on all that’s happened since they’ve been gone. I know that’s not possible, but I’m certain they’re up to speed on my life and keeping an eye on me from wherever they are now.
To my dear grandma and grandpa – thank you for everything, for loving me unconditionally, and for letting me be myself. I love you both so much!
matcha latte on a rainy night 