
Remembering My Grandfather
Last month, my family lost my grandfather, Peter E. Newman, who passed away at the age of 89. A few days after it happened, my brothers and I did a video call to check in and sort through how we were feeling. It was a complicated conversation for a few reasons—while my grandfather was a kindhearted, deeply caring man who always looked out for others (especially his family) with a great sense of humor who loved to laugh, he was also a distant, quiet, and rarely reached out to others. Often, it was hard to know what he was thinking, and we certainly didn’t know how he was feeling. My brothers and I were closer to their grandfather than most kids. When I was eight, a few years after my grandmother died, my family moved from southern Connecticut to New Hampshire to live with my grandfather and my youngest aunt, who was still in high school at the time. The move made sense for a lot of reasons: my family wanted to get out of the city and start somewhere new, and it seemed better for my grandfather and my aunt not to be alone. My grandfather lived in an




