14 years ago, when I was 18, my grandmother had passed away. I never truly knew her as there was always large language barrier between my grand-parents and I. She was sweet, kind, had a strong laugh I can still imagine, and knew I liked chocolate. Shortly after her passing I was moving to Toronto for college, and a mistake in my application meant I missed the deadline for getting into the campus residence. My grampa, who I knew much less than my grandma, was newly a widower and do it made a lot of sense for me to live with him. The language barrier was still there, but it gradually faded. I remember one of the first things we did together was visit the cemetery where my grandma was laid to rest. As if my grandma was in another room with the door closed, my grampa rapped on the headstone with his cane and told her "their prince" had arrived.  In the next few months, he would take me to the local pond where we would feed ducks together, we'd go shopping together...