Exactly one year ago, Feb. 1, 2025, was the day my beloved grandfather, Romano Heqimi, took his final breaths in the hospital. My hand clenched his hand as this painful experience was transpiring. All the beautiful memories of him and me were coming to me as flashbacks, while my heart was racing knowing that my future would be without him. I was holding his left hand, and I thought for a moment that I was disturbing him, so I began to release my grasp when suddenly he squeezed my hand, signaling me to stay. I did not leave his side. On one hand, I held him, on the other hand, my father held him, and my grandmother caressed my grandfather’s feet as his final moments on Earth were unraveling right in front of our very eyes. The heart monitor soon flatlined, and I broke down in uncontrollable tears.
This is not an article, but a tribute to the man who raised me to be an independent, inquisitive, skeptical, hardworking, and grateful young woman.
One of my most recent memories is when we both would go to the beach during the summers of 2022, 2023, and 2024, taking long walks along the coastline, talking about anything and everything. When we saw rocks, we would sit on them, soak in the warm sun, and breathe in that refreshing iodine smell coming from the water.
This is just one of endless beautiful moments we shared. Now I take myself to the beginning, when I met my grandfather for the first time.
My grandfather came down to Florida from Connecticut when I was only 39 days old to feed me, bathe me, and care for me while my parents were at work. There is an abundance of cassettes of him dancing with me while listening to music or of him just recording me sleeping or playing with my toys.
Every summer, I would visit my grandparents in Connecticut, and the summer before entering fourth grade was the first time I learned what “summer school” really was. My grandfather would give me math problems that were always for the grade I was going into. So, when I was entering the fourth grade, he would give me math problems that fourth grade students do. He would first teach me how to solve some word problems or equations, guiding me through why they would be solved in that manner, and then he would select similar problems and have me solve them.
In the mornings, my grandparents would always have their coffee with biscuits and talk about what they read on the news or share family stories. As a curious spirit, I would always join in on my grandparents’ conversation and drink coffee with them while dipping a delicious cookie into my mug. Sometimes my grandfather would ask me riddles or my thoughts about what my grandparents were discussing, creating moments of intellectual growth and reflection. After our conversations, it was the time I dreaded: my math problems. I used to hate solving my daily assigned math problems that one day I proposed something. If I had to suffer from homework, I would make my grandfather suffer with me. I told him if I did those problems, I could play teacher and he could be my student. To my surprise, my grandfather agreed. In the evenings, I would sit on the large, comfy recliner in the living room while my grandfather sat on the sofa. I gave him a notebook and would give him spelling tests, random trivia tests, and would quiz him on state capitals. He was a former math teacher, so it felt like a full-circle moment that I was “teaching” one of the most respected and admired educators in Berat, Albania. He always made me feel valued, loved, and above all, irreplaceable.
After “teaching” my grandfather, he and I would go out to the front lawn and play Sudoku, or he would sit and watch me play with my Hula Hoop or ride my skates on the sidewalk. No matter what we were doing, we always enjoyed each other’s company.
Some summer nights consisted of us getting our bikes and riding them all throughout Manchester, Connecticut. My favorite activity was riding down steep roads. My grandfather would always hold the brakes while riding down those roads and yell at me for not doing the same (or for holding them at the very last moment before I would cross through an intersection). Just gliding down at full speed made me feel free and powerful. I always ignored my grandfather’s lectures on why I had to hold down the brakes even though he was right. Yet I never heeded the advice and just carried on. I loved the wind in my hair and the adrenaline rush too much.
When we would return home, a warm bowl of chicken and egg soup would be on the table waiting for us. We would share dinner before watching television. I never really liked what my grandfather watched on TV because it was always either roundtable talks about Albanian politics or the Albanian evening news. Yet whenever he randomly watched Turkish drama series (with Albanian subtitles), I would immediately be hooked and watch them with him.
On Jan. 1, 2026, I went on the most transformative trip of my life and ventured to the Holy Land. I went to Israel for multiple reasons, one of which was to connect deeper with my faith and visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the Holy Fire ceremony is held every year during the resurrection of Jesus Christ. My family and I are Orthodox Christians, and we watch the Holy Fire ceremony on YouTube every year on Easter. But to visit the church in person, see where Jesus laid, and touch the rock where he was crucified, that was a personal calling and an indirect way to honor my grandfather. In one area of the church, people could sign their name, and I signed my name and his name. On church walls, the name “Anna Romano Heqimi” is forever written.
Though he is no longer physically with me, the memories we shared live on eternally in my heart, and his name is immortalized on the church wall in Jerusalem.
He loved me unconditionally, with all my virtues and all my vices, and embraced me simply for who I am. By continuing to work tirelessly toward my goals, continuing to be studious, and continuing to stay true to my values, I know I make my grandfather proud every day.
Babai, të dua shumë, atëherë, tani, dhe përgjithmonë (Grandfather, I love you, then, now, and forever).