My Grandparents

With both my parents working full-time, I was fortunate to have my grandparents close by. My father’s mother, Nana, lived on one side of our duplex, while my mother’s parents lived right next door. My grandparents were constants in my young life, bringing rhythm, warmth and steadiness to my days.

Life with them was filled with simple, grounding moments. I can still picture my grandmother rolling out dough for her pies, the smell of apples and cinnamon filling the air. My grandfather tended his garden with such care and would spend his afternoon, before his nap, playing solitaire. Their home moved at their pace, and I would readily witness their routines.

This photo captures my siblings and I sitting outside their back porch, dressed up after returning from church. My grandfather wearing a shirt and tie, his customary wardrobe, and my grandmother in one of her familiar dresses – she never wore anything else. Their Catholic faith was a quiet and unwavering presence in theirs, and our lives.  Sundays meant church and Sunday dinner, both comforting rituals that gave shape to the beginning of our week.   

With my grandparents living next door, I knew I had a place to go. A place where I was welcomed, loved and protected.