As a child, I found a small, brown suitcase in my wardrobe. It had two silver latches and a squeaky wooden handle. I didn’t recognise the name inscribed on the bottom in pencil: Ada.
I asked my mother, “Whose suitcase is this?” Mum replied, “Your grandmother’s.”
I was confused about who my grandmother was. Born in the early sixties, I grew up with my parents and two older brothers in Melbourne’s eastern suburbs. Dad had grown up without his mother and was cared for by his paternal grandmother.
