I owe a lot of “thank you’s” to people in my life — some I get to say, some I’m left to live with. 

From my first word to my first car, my grandparents have always been there. Even though I may have only been there for a portion of their life, they have never failed to remind me that I’m one of the most important parts of it. 

When I fell asleep without a blanket, my grandpa would get up to tuck me in. When he saw I had stuck my feet back out, he’d get up over and over again to fix it, just so I wouldn’t get cold at night. My grandma would yell at him for constantly getting up, because she knew that I always slept with my feet out. 

My grandparents have always known me in different ways, yet their individual love and sense of care has fit perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

I didn’t grow up with my parents waking me up and getting me ready for the day; it was always my Nanu (grandma). My parents worked full-time as I was growing up, so my grandparents played a huge role in raising me alongside them. My Nanu watched me come into this world, and she’s been right by my side every day since. My life has been filled with multiple puzzle pieces, multiple people who love and care for me, but, without her, that puzzle would be incomplete. 

When I was a little kid, I’d come home from school to my Nanu. It was always just the two of us until later in the day, when everyone got home from work. We would turn on our old Samsung TV, put it on channel 114 and watch “Max & Ruby” or “Dora the Explorer.” Our TV would randomly shut off in the middle of a show, so we made a game where we would take turns getting up to restart it. She always cheated, but I didn’t care; the moments with her were worth it. She knew how to make the bad days disappear. 

If we weren’t watching TV, we’d be playing my favorite childhood game, “Donkey.” It was a game of catch but every time one of us dropped it, we’d get a letter until we spelled out the word “Donkey.” 

Thirteen years later, I come home from wherever I am — whether it’s school, work or being out with my friends — to Nanu. We talk about my day, we find comfort in each other, we check up on each other — she’s my entire world in one person. She’s in the middle of my puzzle; if she’s missing, it ruins the whole thing.

I learned how to drive in a 2011 Lexus 350. Not just any Lexus car, but my Dada’s  (grandpa). It wasn’t when I was 15 years old, but when I was 2 years old sitting in his lap as he drove around our neighborhood; it’s a memory that means everything to me ever since he’s been gone. My Dada passed away around four years ago and even though he isn’t physically here, he left a piece of him with us. My puzzle hasn’t been the same since, but the memories I hold onto help me imagine what was once a complete puzzle. 

My Dada picked me up from school every day for the first few years I was in school. He’d bring my Nanu along with him, but then we’d stop by my house to drop her off on our way home so we could go on our “chucker” (circle) — where we’d just circle around our neighborhood. It was just the two of us, every day. No matter how late he was for work or how tired he was, he’d make time for me. Now, as I’m 17-years-old, every time I miss him, I go on a “chucker.”

It wasn’t traditional to be vocal about love in the world and society my Dada lived in for the majority of his life, but he never failed to remind me I was loved. Every night before I’d go to sleep, he’d put his hand on my head, tell me he loves me and kiss my head. It was his way of reminding me of how important I am, and it’s something I miss every day. He rarely said my name, instead, he would call me “apa.” The word “apa” means older sister in Urdu, and has an underlying respect that comes with it. A traditional old man had given me more respect than I could ever imagine as a child, and it was because of how much he loved me. 

My Nanu and Dada were never traditional when it came to the love they have for me and my family. They loved like no other and made sure I felt it every day. Sometimes, it was as simple as a game of catch or a drive around our neighborhood; sometimes, it was hugging my Nanu as she sobbed in my arms or visiting my Dada’s grave to talk to him. When my Dada got sick, he told us how my Nanu was the glue of the family, but he never realized that her world didn’t spin the same without him. However, that never kept her from putting her all into loving me and being there for me. 

My Nanu and Dada have always been two perfectly connected puzzle pieces; when one piece is gone, the puzzle can’t ever be complete. 

No matter how many “thank you’s” I live to say, and others live to hear, nothing compares to the “thank you” that I owe my Nanu and Dada for making me the person I am today — and every day after it.