A Letter to Gramma

I don't know why I've come here today. I don't remember the short,
hilly drive, or what was going through my mind when I finally made the
decision to come. I parked my sputtering blue hatchback in a clearing a
few yards down the overgrown path and I immediately knew I would do
more than sit with you in silence. I knew there was much to be said,
mostly by me, but I will listen quietly in my heart in case you have
anything to add.
Since the day you left me, I have not been able to move forward. I have
tried to look at the past through sentimental, joyful eyes, but every
precious memory is shrouded by pain. I don't know if part of me is
hanging on to you too tightly, or if part of you won't let go of me. I
only know something has to give. I can't live my life this way one more
day. My life is different now. I am not a little girl trying to squeeze
into your rocking chair with you for a mid-afternoon nap. I am not the
tallest kid in school; the one they call "Skyscraper." I still don't
like to wear dresses, and I know you would find my collection of chunk
heel shoes appalling. In a few hours, I will change my name. You'd like
the man I'm marrying. He's sweet, and gentle. He's the strongest man I
know. I know you would make him laugh.

Loving you has instilled an overwhelming fear of the unknown in me. I
suppose it is because I watched you drift away. You were so stunningly
beautiful and intelligent. Then, one day, you were no longer able to
feed yourself. You never got out of that chair I used to climb into for
comfort. You forgot the names of your children. You forgot the name of
your beloved late husband. I sat by your side, day after day, looking
into hollow eyes, trying to find any last remains of the woman I once
knew trembling somewhere in that shell. When you said you loved me, I
felt as though I had found her again, just for a while. I am so young,
yet every birthday forces me to ask God for the same things: Please,
let me die before my husband. Don't let the people I love suffer. Take
whatever you want from me, but please leave me with a working
mind.

The day you left, I did not cry. I couldn't cry. Everyone else was
crying, so I remained silent and strong. I gave hugs, patted backs, and
picked out flowers. I searched through your antique jewelry to find the
fragile silver chain with the little blue stone I so loved as a little
girl. It was the only thing I wanted, because it reminded me of you,
fragile but beautiful.

So today I will cry. I will cry because you are not here to share the
most important day of my life with me. I will wear a dress and if you
can see down to earth from Heaven, I know you will breathe a sigh of
relief. I will tell my children about your midwestern drawl and your
sarcastic sense of humor. I will always finish saying Grace with,
"Brother Ben shot a goose and killed a hen." (Where did that come from,
anyway?) I will clasp this necklace around my neck and I will feel your
love for me all over again. You will always make up a big part of my
heart, Gramma. Promise.

Love,
Your Granddaughter