Friday, April 17, 2020

Love letters

Love letters. Today I wrote love letters to my granddaughters. Sydney is a junior in college. Gabby is a senior in high school. They know I love them.

Love letters. As a grandmom, this isolation has pointed out the years of my life I have lead and those that I hope will continue. A year ago I began copying posts from Facebook that I had written about my family into a document called For My Family. I am on the second document now full of laughter and the simple actions of living life. I also have another page started with feelings, my feeling. It is called Who I Am.

As we age, we realize all the things we did not ask our parents and that other generation. It is important to me that my family has those answers and perhaps be surprised at the captured memories I treasure. For those children too young to keep these memories, I will paint them a picture of their Grammy, their MeMe. This I can give to them. This I can give to me.

This morning I was contemplating what to do for my younger granddaughter who is missing her graduation and prom. She may even start college from home. My heart aches for her. My other granddaughter came home before college kids were told to bring home all their items. Her clothes and other necessities are still in an apartment two hours away. Both of them have no summer jobs to help pay for their educations. So I decided to write letters to them. They are on my mind.

I miss those days when the girls were young. We had tea parties and got into all sorts of trouble, laughing and playing all the time. Our family experienced a difficult time years ago with relationships changed. At one time I saw the girls every day. After this time, I saw them on rare occasions. I know from my own experience that unless a memory is shaken loose, it lies dormant. Maybe dormant for a lifetime. I don't want the girls to forget. I don't want to be that person they didn't know that well. So, yes, I have to give up a little of myself to be as real as I possibly can, so they know me. Perhaps this isolation has shaken loose parts of me that might not have surfaced otherwise.

Love letters. I have the love letters between my parents when they were dating, but I have no love letters from them to me. For all the years I lived with my parents, I knew so little about them, about who they were, about their views, their pain, their joy, their past. Love letters. They are important. This is mine to you.

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