As I was growing up for me, personally, there was nothing more thrilling than receiving mail… A true letter. I will never forget the day my first true letter arrived. I was around seven years old, I was just learning to write in cursive, and had not mastered the art of reading it, yet. Once I found out I had mail, I looked to see who could it possibly be from. it was from “Pa” (my dads father) I opened up the tan envelope addressed to yours truly. And noticed it was written in cursive. I pretended to be able to read it, but, Mom knowing better offered to read it allowed, “So, everyone, mainly the little girls could hear the story too.” It was called, “Pa and the wood ants” It was the best letter I’ve ever received. I sat down right away and wrote him back, explaining how I couldn’t read cursive just yet, so if he could, please write the next letter in print, just so I’d be able to read it on my own. A few weeks letter, I had another letter. It was addressed to me, in print. The letter was written in print, and Pa even mentioned how he understood, and would write me in print, until I learned to read cursive. That letter had something to do with birds, and trains. Oh how he could make me smile. He was also a very strict man, a little grumpy at times, he loved to read, watch t.v., ride his bike, work on his bikes, (bikes meaning motorcycles) He loved being with my grandmother. They had been married for I believe forty-three years. I remember the school days of them just dropping in, Ma making me the most amazing yellow and flower church dress. I remember the day Pa and I found an orange and white kitten, not even old enough to have it’s eyes open on the car port of Nana’s house. We took it in, and took care of it. I remember the day they got Bear, his dog, a black chow. I remember seeing them walk into church and sitting on the back row. It warmed my heart. I remember the ring they gave me for my tenth birthday, little did I know it would be their last birthday with me. I remember them getting me, my “be jeweled kit” I remember their smoky house, and how it was hard to breathe. Yet, I loved being there anyways. I remember a few weeks before Pa pasted away, he was on a breathing machine, and we had went over to their house, for many reasons I am sure for our memories, and for my grandfathers sake, we weren’t allowed in the back room that night, I remember being so sad, because I really wanted to see him. My dad came out of the room, and said, “Girls, Pa want’s to see you. He is having hard time breathing and talking, just listen up.” We walked to his room, and stood next to the foot of the bed. I’ll never forget how heart breaking it was to see him, my strong grandfather laying there, almost helpless. His voice was weak. He looked at all four of us girls standing there, and said to us, “ You girls know that I will always love you, and I am so proud of you.” He could barely finish the sentence. He said this, and I am almost sure I saw tears in his eyes. But, I wouldnt know because my own eyes had tears in them. Knowing this was more than likely the last time I’d see him breathing, I didnt want to take my eyes off him. Days later, family from out west had been called in, and He was nearing the end. One afternoon, we were taking chili over to help my grandmother out with all the cooking. My dad got a call from my Uncle Lee. We were on the dirt road, close to their house, and My dad was telling him, “okay, we are close, we’re coming. Tell him it’s okay to go ahead and go.” I remember sitting in the back looking out the window, and being so unsure of what was going on. We get to the house, my parents told me wait outside. I knew then something was really wrong. I was standing there, holding Bear, who was almost as big as me, and Aunt Barbie, (yes, thats her name) came over to me, and said, “I’m sorry about your Pa.” I looked at her, in disbelief. Knowing it surely she was playing some mean trick on me. I looked at her said, “ Oh, It’s okay.” My mom came out moments later, I looked at her eyes, and knew. She just grabbed me and held me, and let me a little ten year old girl who had just lost her grandfather. We stood there, on the porch, covered with Pa’s things and cried together. Once we went in, I saw my sweet small grandmother standing there, holding my grandfathers hands. Taking in his face, his feel, and just soaking up her last moments with her husband. She looked at me, her green eyes, were sweet, lost, and almost confused. She gave me a half smile, and hugged me. Her embrace was almost reassuring me that it would be okay. As much as these memories make me cry, they make me feel loved, and I can’t help but to smile as I read the countless letters he left us. There’s never a special moment that goes by, that I don’t ache for them. Day to Day is easier. But, the day of their deaths, is just like pouring salt into an open wound. It burns. I get this feeling in the back of my throat, that hurts so bad from fighting back the tears. But then it’s moments when I find my letters, and read them, and it makes my world okay again. Rather than making me sad, it makes me glad to know that I was blessed with such amazing grandparents. They were simply the best!
Fifteen years ago, my world was turned upside down. Fifteen years later, I still feel the love that they had for us.
