Smiling Mom

Dear Grandma Bryan,

So wri­ting this let­ter is pretty hard for me to do. Not because I don’t have fond memo­ries, I do!  But because I fear that I won’t be able to tell you elo­quently enough just how much I love you and how gra­te­ful I am for the life I’ve had.

I have lived a very bles­sed life.  A life filled with love, lear­ning and accep­tance.  I have grown up with the bene­fit of having a two-parent hou­sehold.  And, ama­zingly enough, my parents have loved each other throughout the good and bad times.  How lucky am I to have had this experience?

My mom is an ama­zing woman, a woman you rea­red.  A woman who you single-handedly rai­sed to be an adult.  For this I am eter­nally gra­te­ful.  When I look at you and your life, I see a woman who was for­ced into a life where you were requi­red to become a sin­gle parent well before your time.  You wor­ked hard and rai­sed three beau­ti­ful chil­dren who were, essen­tially, the same age.  I can’t even ima­gine!  But you did it!  You did it all while wor­king full time, paying a mort­gage, and pro­vi­ding your chil­dren with the things they wan­ted and nee­ded.  I admire you so much for this.  It must have been such a cha­llenge at times to keep it all together.

I have vivid memo­ries of Christ­mas Eve at your house from years ago.  I remem­ber all the cou­sins get­ting together to open pre­sents, eat din­ner, and play.  (I always wan­ted to eat at the bar! But usually had to sit at the kid’s table) We use to have so much fun.  I know this was a won­der­ful time in your memory as well, having your house filled with the sounds of laugh­ter and family.  One memory in par­ti­cu­lar that I have is when I recei­ved a huge Bar­bie head for a gift.  This head was equip­ped with lots of makeup, a girls dream!  So ins­tead of the inten­ded use, Bar­bie, I deci­ded to make up myself, my clothes, the car­pet, my cou­sins and just about anything I could find.  Need­less to say, the makeup disap­pea­red from my Bar­bie head by the next morning.

Each Christ­mas Eve as we drove home, I remem­ber watching the moon in the sky and searching for Santa’s sleigh.  These are memo­ries that I che­rish each Christmas.

I also remem­ber many days spent with you pic­king black­be­rries, peaches, and oran­ges.  I loved pla­ying on your jun­gle gym in the back­yard and pla­ying hide and seek with Jeff, Shauna, and Kathlyn.

But now, as I write you this let­ter, I’m hol­ding my daugh­ter, Ella, in my arms and rea­li­zing that it is because of you and the family you’ve crea­ted, that I am bles­sed with the life I have.

You have wor­ked hard, so hard.  You’ve lived a life filled with family, The Hea­venly Father, and friends.  You’ve crea­ted many knick-knacks to remem­ber you by.  Both my chil­dren have a blan­ket, made by you.  And each holi­day I take out my deco­ra­tions, the por­ce­lain Christ­mas tree, Hallo­ween cat and hat, Eas­ter bun­nies, and think of you.

And when I speak my daughter’s name, Ella, I am remin­ded of my his­tory, your mother, you.

Wri­ting this let­ter is extre­mely hard.  Time is never enough.  I don’t feel like I’ve had enough time with you, and neither have my chil­dren.  You, like­wise, didn’t have enough time with Grandpa Bryan.  But you will!  You are about to embark on a whole new jour­ney one filled with eter­nal love and hap­pi­ness.  For you, I’m exci­ted.  But for me, sel­fishly, I feel sad as our time together begins to come to an end.

I love you Grandma.  I love you.

And I thank you so much for the life I’ve had.  I have been so blessed.

With my love,
Nanette