My Grandpa Died — and No One Told Me
Rebecca Wu
For me, grief isn’t just one feeling…
It’s a mix of emotions, memories, questions, things I said — and a lot of things I never got to say.
When I was a kid, my grandpa died suddenly.
He lived in the same apartment as me, but no one explained what had happened. I didn’t actually realize he was dead until the funeral. Because of cultural customs, kids came up last to pay their respects, and the whole day felt confusing — almost like a strange playdate with my cousins.
I remember looking at my grandpa and thinking he looked different. Almost plastic.
I didn’t really understand what I was seeing or why everyone was acting the way they were. At the funeral, I was praised for crying and then abruptly told to stop. In the chaos of planning and family gathering, my mom forgot to explain to me that he had died.
I pieced things together by overhearing conversations and asking my cousins questions they didn’t know how to answer. I heard repeatedly that my grandpa died in his sleep. But there was no telling what was fact or fiction.
As a kid, I filled in the gaps however I could.
Maybe he choked on a pillow that was too soft. Maybe aliens took him and only returned his body. Those stories helped me make sense of something no one had named for me.
Afterward, my family kept all of my grandpa’s things exactly where they’d always been. In my culture, when someone dies, color photos are often taken down and replaced with a black-and-white one at an altar. But because his death was so sudden, there wasn’t a photo yet — so for a while, there was just an empty frame.
It wasn’t until I was an adult — years later, while I was hosting grief workshops — that my mom realized no one had ever told me my grandpa had died.
Now, as an adult, I approach grief differently.
I use art, creativity, and living memory boxes to honor people who have passed and to give kids something tangible — an object, a story, a way in — that makes it okay to talk about grief. To process loss.
For me, part of grief is the love that still needs somewhere to go.
Through this campaign, we’re creating spaces where that love can be named, held, and carried — for ourselves, our families, and our community.
♥️
After sharing this story, I paused to notice where my heart is now.
The Heart I Chose
I chose a small wooden clip with a heart on it.
There is a lot to carry — memories, questions, things I never got to ask.
But even a clip has a limit. I am learning what to hold onto, and what to gently let go.
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