Friday, May 13, 2005
Grammy
I found, just this moment, a letter I had written as a journaling exercise, but one that means a lot to me. It is a letter I wrote August 9 of last year to my Grammy. She passed away a couple decades ago, but she's still alive in my heart, and I really want to share her.
Dear Grammy,
You held everything together. I really miss your wisdom and your humor, but really, the thing I miss most about you is that you kept all of us a family. When you died, it fell apart. Do you remember your Sunday Breakfasts on your patio underneath the grapevines? I remember how very much I loved you, and how proud you were of your little piano player with brown eyes. How often I would sit at your little spinnet and instead of playing, I would gaze in curiosity at the gold spray-painted Christmas tree thing on a turn table with all of it's treasures, or play with your "daily bread" scripture box--how you loved to tell me about Jesus--and how I loved to listen.
You were more than lenient with me and only once do I remember you swatting me when Suzii and I had come to stay overnight with you. I think we had been talking too much or something. I don't really remember the situation exactly. I just know that I was crushed that grammy had spanked me of all people.
You wanted to teach me crocheting and knitting but I was too busy to sit still long enough to learn. I wish I had paid attention.
I didn't understand then what that big purple thing was on your leg. I didn't realize that for you it was the beginning of the end. Had I known, could I have stopped it? We moved 1500 miles away from you and I missed you awfully. I didn't know you were dying. Why did we leave? You came once to visit, but you were sick and couldn't move around much. You knew that was the last time we would see each other, so you came to say your silent goodbye and returned home.
When the call came, I knew you were gone before the receiver was picked up. May 8, 1978. I will never forget that day for the rest of my life. I was 9 years old then.
I am almost 36 now, Grammy, and I can almost not remember your face, or your voice, and I don't want to lose that memory. I wish, just one moment, that I could see you again--whole and happy, your twinkling eyes and laughter engulfing this little child with your warmth and wisdom. Your life shaped mine and will, in turn, shape my children and their children till the end of time.
Dear Grammy,
You held everything together. I really miss your wisdom and your humor, but really, the thing I miss most about you is that you kept all of us a family. When you died, it fell apart. Do you remember your Sunday Breakfasts on your patio underneath the grapevines? I remember how very much I loved you, and how proud you were of your little piano player with brown eyes. How often I would sit at your little spinnet and instead of playing, I would gaze in curiosity at the gold spray-painted Christmas tree thing on a turn table with all of it's treasures, or play with your "daily bread" scripture box--how you loved to tell me about Jesus--and how I loved to listen.
You were more than lenient with me and only once do I remember you swatting me when Suzii and I had come to stay overnight with you. I think we had been talking too much or something. I don't really remember the situation exactly. I just know that I was crushed that grammy had spanked me of all people.
You wanted to teach me crocheting and knitting but I was too busy to sit still long enough to learn. I wish I had paid attention.
I didn't understand then what that big purple thing was on your leg. I didn't realize that for you it was the beginning of the end. Had I known, could I have stopped it? We moved 1500 miles away from you and I missed you awfully. I didn't know you were dying. Why did we leave? You came once to visit, but you were sick and couldn't move around much. You knew that was the last time we would see each other, so you came to say your silent goodbye and returned home.
When the call came, I knew you were gone before the receiver was picked up. May 8, 1978. I will never forget that day for the rest of my life. I was 9 years old then.
I am almost 36 now, Grammy, and I can almost not remember your face, or your voice, and I don't want to lose that memory. I wish, just one moment, that I could see you again--whole and happy, your twinkling eyes and laughter engulfing this little child with your warmth and wisdom. Your life shaped mine and will, in turn, shape my children and their children till the end of time.
