When I found out about my grandfather’s passing in primary school, all the dreams I had of meeting him were shattered. There was a dry and tightening feeling in my throat. I felt guilty for crying. I never got to meet him. My first foreign heartbreak. My parents always talked about us going back home to Ghana to meet the family. It was a dream for me because the white and third generation ethnic kids at school would talk about what their nans and pops got them for Christmas. I couldn’t wait to meet mine, so that each time another kid had a story to tell about their grandparents, I could have one of my own to share.