Lots of summers and weekends at Shimasani doo Shicheii bighan were some of the best parts of my childhood. Shimasaní could speak English, but Shícheii mainly spoke Navajo.

Looking back, I wish I could've learned Navajo.

It could've helped tremendously when I lost my masani over a decade ago. It was hard and awkward to talk to my cheii, sometimes. He didn't understand everything I said, and I didn't understand everything he said either.

One day, I asked my grandpa, "Can you teach me Navajo?"

“Go out and learn Navajo then.” He replied.

I thought it was a strange reply, and he wasn’t interested in teaching me.

When I got home, I made a plan for myself.

I choose words and phrases to build into my memory. I worked at it for over a month, because I wanted to be able to start speaking to my grandpa.

But then, . . .

. . . my grandpa unexpectedly got COVID. It was one of the most heartbreaking seasons of my life. I wanted nothing more than for him to come home safe and healthy, but he didn't make it.

With both my grandparents gone, I realized how important the Navajo language was to me.

It's the connection to my culture, heritage, and my family roots.

It's bittersweet thinking back and hearing them speak this beautiful language that I might not get to hear again in the far future.

That's where it hurts the most - to think that my kids might not hear the language I heard growing up.

I miss my grandparents dearly, and even though they’re not here to help me, I don't want to give up completely.

“Go out and learn Navajo then.”

Now, I finally understood what Shícheii meant.

When I remember those words, I envision him sitting back in his black chair, pointing straight ahead, eyes focused in the distance, telling me, “Where you want to go is right over there. Get going. No one’s stopping you.” And it all made sense now.

And, this is why I'm doing this.