As an only child, family means everything to me. One of my favorite people growing up was my maternal grandmother, a tenacious, trailblazing force of nature. She was bold, strategic, and never let society define her. As a Bangladeshi woman, she defied expectations to be quiet and obedient. She stirred the pot in the best way possible. I joke that she started the family trend: our women don’t just survive widowhood, they thrive in it. I remember her enrolling in English classes, working full-time, and living alone well after 60. For someone born and raised in Bangladesh, that’s unheard of and often frowned upon. Losing her last year felt like my world tilted off its axis. “Suzie” and “death” didn’t even sound right in the same sentence. She was so full of life, so bright and exuberant. When I flew to Bangladesh as the only grandchild to be there while she was sick, I remember relatives discussing what she’d leave behind. Her home was beautifully decorated, and she was proud of it, but the only thing I wanted were her vintage photos. I don’t know how old they are, but since my mom’s a child in them, I’d guess over 40 years. (Sorry for exposing your age, Ammu!) These photos are family artifacts, and they mean the world to me. 

– FARIHAKHAN

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant