My grandfather died 3 years ago. After I found out I closed the room of my door and sat in my chair and began crying. I know he's in a happier place now.

My great grandmother is turning 100 this summer.

When you turn 100, the Canadian government will give you a certificate of appreciation. But because of government regulations, she lied back then to claim a certain working status. Looks like her recognition will just have to wait!

this past february my mom, my aunt and i drove my grandfather down to florida to see his sister. he's 82 and she is 85. they hadnt seen each other in over 30 years. i hadnt spent much time with my grandfather in the past ten years since he moved farther away. the image i had in my head was from a ten year old child's point of view. he was grandpa. quiet and a little gruff but i knew that he was strong and would always be there to make things better.
when we got to my great-aunt's house they were talking and she was asking him about the family and about his late wife. my grandmother died before i was born. he never remarried or found anyone else. it was evident all through my childhood how much he loved her. when my great-aunt asked about how she died my grandfather made up some vague story about how she suddenly got sick. he said the doctors didnt know what it was and after she was in the hospital for a few days she died.
my mom, my aunt and i all looked at each other confused but didnt say anything.
my grandmother died of lung cancer. there was nothing sudden about it. she was in and out of the hospital for months.
it suddenly became clear why the entire 20 hour drive there my grandfather had been repeating the same stories. he couldnt remember anything else. or even the fact that he had already told us.

she was the love of his life and his memories of her are fading.

My grandfather didn't do much. He'd stay at home most of the time. My mother says he would get lost had he gone to the mall by himself, which was only a block away. Most of the time I'd wonder if he would like to go out and play. Several years later my grandfather moved back to his country to live with my aunt. Whenever we talked on the phone, he would always remind me about the day he walked me to my kindergarden class. He always said, "did you let anyone bud you in line in class today?" That was our little inside joke. Although he's no longer here, I will always remember the day he walked me to my kindergarden class.

My jersey number was in memory of him.

They say I have their eyes, their nose, their ears. But, also a part of me is their tradition, their heritage, their namesake.

I am really close with my grandmother so it's hard to say one time that sticks out. One time in the summer, my cousins were over. We all lived very close to each other, within 5 minutes walk of each other's places. Since my grandma lived at my house and took care of my cousins as well, they came over everyday in the summer. Anyway, my house is sort of boring - I wasn't allowed to have video games and wasn't allowed to watch tv during the day. So my cousins and I were outside ride our bikes around the block one day and we decided to go to my cousin's house. My grandma yelled for us to come home but we wanted to go over to his house to get his video game system. She kept saying that it was dangerous, how there's cars and its on a slope and etc etc. Being kids, we decided to ignore her but we only went half way before our guilty conscience kicked in.

Anyway, I was annoyed because I really wanted to play the N64. So we went back and she got mad at us and yeah. We kept saying spiteful things as if we were hurt. Not nice of us, I know. At night, she pulled me aside and explained to me why it was bad.

When my grandfather moved in to live with us, he stayed in his room a lot. Most of the time, I'd only see him at meals and it was rare that I conversed with him. I guess I just had nothing to say.

One time, he called me in to his room and took out this small rectangular object from his jacket pocket. It was a brass harmonica. He put it to his lips and began playing. Actually, he first took out his dentures and set them aside, and then he started playing. I thought it was the coolest thing, the harmonica playing, not the denture removal. He would then continue to hum out a tune I couldn't recognize, but one that sounded good nonetheless.

I never got to really know my grandparents until now because I lived a million miles away in another country. But what I did know was that they were kind and they would spoil me and my siblings every time we went to visit them. The time we spent together, though, was always so short that I only knew a few things about them.

Eight years ago my grandpa died of prostate cancer. It was shocking and very unexpected, yet I wasn't sure how to respond... at his funeral I realized that I would never see him again and I'd never have the chance to get to know him better. That was the saddest part about his death, my time with him was over.

Since his death I've tried to treasure every single moment with my other grandparents, but it wasn't until this past Christmas that it finally hit me how great grandparents really are. They are old and so wise, and I really don't have that much time with them... life is fragile and my precious moments with them could be over at any time.

My paternal grandfather was born in Canton, China in 1918. They didn't have formal birth certificates then and many men exaggerated their age to work, so it's the best guess at a birth year. He lived most of his 88 years of life in Hong Kong, spending several months here and there with my family in Canada and on one occasion Leeds, England.

Christmas Day 1941, World War 2: Japan had invaded Hong Kong and established rule of the (then) country. At the time my grandfather was still single in his 20's. Food was scarce during the war due to hyperinflation and food rationing on Hong Kong Island where the Japanese had stationed themselves.

One day, my grandfather took a hired boat with some others to the mainland with the goal of smuggling powdered milk back for his family. On his return return to HK Island, the Japanese caught him and threw him into a concentration camp.

He never spoke much about what happened in the camp. He has only told us that his family owned a business and was able to pay money for his general well being in the camp -- however, it was a concentration camp after all, so one can only imagine how marginally better he was treated. Maybe it's better to say, that he wasn't ill treated, as in tortured. Those that were not as lucky financially were often tortured, water-boarding being the main form, and beaten.

In total, he spent a few months during the war in confinement before he was released. The mental trauma and scars of his time there, however, lasted until his passing in 2006.

When I was a child, I never had babysitters, I always went to my grandmother's mobile home. She didn't drive after the accident, so her car park was filled with plants she would water in the late afternoon, the glistening water forming a rainbow in the sunlight. In front was a concrete birdbath, always bare and dry. Inside there was a dog and cat, in separate rooms, and I would curl up with the dog in the sun by the window, because the cat made me sneeze. My grandmother and I would sit on the ancient, dusty couches, and toss the pillows back and forth, or play 'Button, button,' or simply shut the blinds, turn off the lights, and watch candlelight dance on the walls. Her home smelled of the animals, turpentine, mothballs, and potpourri. I was too young to appreciate knowing an amazing woman, but when she died, I locked myself in the dark, hot garage of my parent's home and cried for the day.

I was staying with my grandfather in his little apartment while my grandmother was at the hospital down the street. She had a stroke and couldn't speak - and his whole life now revolved around spending time sitting beside her every day. I lived in Calgary at the time but my dad thought it was important for me to spend some time with him. I remember one night after dinner we were watching TV and he told me that he really wanted to watch the Chinese news on Channel 4. It hadn't started yet and he drifted off to sleep in his chair. I turned the channel and saw 'Seinfeld'. I thought it was really funny so I continued to watch it, even though I know my grandfather really wanted to watch the news. When he woke up we switched the channel and the news had already ended - he missed it. He missed it because I purposely didn't wake him up. I wish he were still alive today so we could watch the news together. I've always felt guilty about this.