My happiest childhood memories were with him. We would always walk to the store, the sky bright above us, tree leaves rustling above us as a family of squirrels played a game of tag. I would sit on the trolley cart, laughing when we had to go over a speed bump, until arriving at our destination. Then I would walk back home when the cart was full of groceries. I was happy in those memories. He was happy in them too—my grandpa.

I don’t know what changed. I grew up. With no more time for fun, and too big to ride on a trolley cart, the distance between us grew and grew. My grandpa has good intentions but never really had the best temper. Perhaps as a child, I never noticed it that much. But as time passed, his temper seemed to sour. With my grandma sick, my grandpa had no freedom, having to stay by my grandma’s side at all times. This made him grouchy, as he always valued freedom a lot. We barely talk to each other anymore, sitting in silence at the dinner table, speaking only when necessary. It seems impossible to think we were once friends. I wonder who changed. Was it me? Him? Or was it both?

I sighed as I walked through the street where we used to walk towards the store, going up and down speed bumps. I sat on the side of the curb and stare at the squirrels playing tag with each other. Making it rain leaves around me. I smiled. People change. And whether it was changed for good or bad, it’s okay. We were once friends, but will always be family. That will never change.