Grandma is not Nanu (my mom’s mom) or Dadu (my dad’s mom). Grandma is an 83 old woman who with her husband took care of me in a town called Winkler between grades 1 and 3. Grandpa passed away recently and I missed the funeral because I didn’t check my messages. We went to go see her a few days ago. She’s wearing her wedding ring and her late husband’s ring. She still says “we” instead of “I”. She admits it hasn’t hit her yet.

I never saw Grandpa upset once. He was a quiet man, he smiled and was warm. He used to take me on his motorcycle. He liked desserts. He played golf whenever he got a chance. If his score was not looking so good he’d play with multiple balls, as in hit two at a time. He was fairly successful. He started out as a farmer and then moved into construction and real estate. He and his wife were some of the founding members of a Mennonite church in Winkler. They started it because other churches at the time insisted on conducting everything in the German language including sermons and Sunday schools and they didn’t think that was best for the kids. Grandma and Grandpa had one son of their own and adopted two daughters. They have tons of grandkids and some great grandkids too.

Visiting Winkler was fun. Went to our old condo. Went to the old school. Swung on the swings I nearly skinned my knees off of as a kid, still have scars. Saw the tree I planted. Saw the monkey bars I dedicated hours towards. Mom suspects I’m taller than the average Bangladeshi because I hung so much. Checked out the mall, hasn’t changed much, it was closed. We went on a Sunday and most of the town including Grandma was at church. All the lawns were nice with little flower gardens in front.

The last time I talked to Grandpa he told me to listen to Grandma and go on vacation.