It’s only been 3 months and yet this year, I’ve celebrated life and death. I celebrated my late grandmother and my only living grandparent, my grandfather. Here’s the story of my grandparents… My grandfather on my mother’s side transitioned when I was very young, so I didn’t get to know him very well, but I always hear stories and think of what he was like. I grew up knowing my other 3 grandparents very well, as they were on afterschool duty, and I spent time with them on the weekend and in the summer. My grandmother on my father’s side transitioned when I was in high school. This left me with my grandmother on my mom’s side and my grandfather on my dad’s side. 

Over the past few years, my grandma had been getting older and we knew it would be time for her to transition soon. She is part of the reason I moved to Florida, to be around when it was time. In late-January, my sister and I got a call from our mom saying to come over, it was time to say goodbye. We met our siblings there and sat with my grandma, each taking time to talk with her. She passed early the next morning and after life planning began. I reflect on my time with my grandma and I think about her taking me to piano lessons after school. She was so excited and proud of me every time I had a recital. I also think about her laugh, it was so full. She laughed with her whole heart. As we made arrangements, I learned that there is so much I did not and may not ever know about my grandmother. She lived for 96 years and I only know some of the parts of her that existed for my lifetime. There are about 60 years of life, good and bad, that I wonder about. I wonder what life was like in Jamaica in the early 1930s. I wonder how she immigrated to the US. I wonder what she had to endure as a Black woman. I wonder how she celebrated. I wonder what she and my grandfather were like together. I wonder where she found joy. I wonder what made her cry. I wonder what she worried about. I wonder what she prayed for. I wonder who she was because I only know her as my grandma. My grandma who was excited to pick me up from school, who always packed an afterschool snack, and who called her purse a pocketbook. My grandma, who baked cakes from scratch and never wasted any food. I love who I had the chance to get to know and I wonder about the rest of her story. 

As one moment passed, another moment arrived and I was able to celebrate my grandpa’s 80th birthday with family. As his memory and moods have been shifting the last few years, I’m grateful for any moment to spend with him. My dad’s side of the family got together to plan a celebration for him and on the heels of my grandmother’s passing, this was an important moment for me. My cousins and siblings spearheaded the organizing as the shift of responsibility is transitioning from my dad’s generation to mine. We celebrated another day in paradise and my grandpa had a great time taking photos, dancing, singing, and eating. I find myself more thankful for the moments when he is happy and in good spirits. He laughed at so many jokes and showed us a sneak peak at how he used to get down. Again, I wondered what he was like in the 50ish years that I had not known him. I wonder what life in Trinidad was like. I wonder how he met my grandmother. I wonder what he loved and who he shared his thoughts with. I wonder when he moved to Trinidad. I wonder about his parents. I wondered about his childhood. I wonder what his flaws are. I wonder what he thinks of as he looks back on his life. Though I still have him, his memory escapes him most days, so I may get some answers, but not the full story.

I think about my grandparents as the people who paved the way for the opportunities I have now. I also think of my grandparents as the people who hold the stories of our family. Nearing 30, I think more and more about the family I have and the family to come, whether defined by blood or by love, and I wonder what stories I will have to pass on to them. The life and legacy of family is important to me because it is how we will connect and grow with one other. It is the village that raises us, it is the pain we’ve endured, and it is the generational trauma we seek to repair. I cannot help but worry that if we don’t know these stories, we won’t have any stories to share with the family to come. The pattern of erasure is already so prevalent in the history of America with Black and indigenous people, and I feel a sense of heaviness/weight at the mere idea that a few generations down the line won’t know the land, culture, and people they come from. 

The truth is, we are all human. It’s hard for me to live with the fact that we will never truly know each other, but I am motivated by life and death to try. When I say ‘truly know each other’ I’m referring to knowing it all, the good, the bad, and the not so pretty. I’m less concerned with perfection and more concerned with truth. While my grandparents are the generation with the most life and knowledge, that also solidifies their role in passing generational curses down to my parents and on to my generation. I don’t view my grandparents and parents on a pedestal incapable of making mistakes, instead I view them as adults just like me, who are figuring out life each day. I appreciate the honesty more than the facade because the understanding from knowing the truth enables me to better trace and unlearn the generational trauma. I fear that plastered joy will overshadow the truth and I will soon know nothing of who we truly are. I know my grandparents didn’t endure the struggles of being dark skinned people in Trinidad, immigrants in America, Black men and women in America, and so much more to be forgotten and I won’t let them. 

Travel Tip #33: Find your story and the truth. 

Time is limited. Look around your family and your friend groups, we’re all getting older and responsibilities are shifting. We are the ones hosting the holiday dinners and family functions, so make sure you’ve got the family recipes written down. It may not be perfect, but it’s part of you and your story. We are each part of a community of people and that is part of our story. Use the time you have to say your thoughts, ask your questions, and listen. I will have to get creative in finding the story of my grandparents, but I have my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. It’s just a matter of starting the conversation because these are the stories I hope to tell my children, nieces, and nephews. Holding in mind the value of the past, present, and future, here are a few question to help you think about your family’s story:

What stories will the generations to come know of your family?

How can you learn the story? Who holds these stories? 

How do you want to share these stories?

Remember that as you uncover the stories of your families, be gentle and listen with love. Trust that they did the best they could with the knowledge they had. 

Starting the conversation,

Maila