Dear Grandmother...

I wrote this letter to Grandmother yesterday afternoon. It isn't my typical light-hearted story, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it.


Dear Grandmother,

This letter has been in progress for over a year. Please forgive me for not writing it sooner. Today, I found a picture of papa and you with the rest of our family. When I took the time to look at it, a whole flood of emotions poured out—years of things that should have been said along the way, all piling up behind a wall of indifference. Why is it we fail to express the things in our hearts to those we care about deeply? I don't think I've told you I love you enough and I'm one of the luckiest people alive to have had someone like you to influence me.
It's such a pity I wasted away the treasures of my youth. Had I realized what a valuable possession I had while growing up, I would have savored it all the more. So much was lost because I didn't take enough time or effort to listen, talk, ask, and appreciate. Those things I do remember are such wondrous gifts that mean more than anything…no one can take them away.

I remember so many things like the first time I went to the basement in your house-that was real adventure. I remember the big tree out front, the millions of chairs on the porch, the smell of freshly cut wood in papa’s workshop, the many times I sat with Dad on the tractor, the first time I rode the four-wheeler, the holiday dinners, the fear of the outhouse, the many sets of deer antlers hung for visitors to see, the endless amount of stuff in cabinets, the high ceilings, the Mexican Cornbread, the snake in the barn, the never-ending fields bordered by old fences, the B-B guns and dead birds, the traditional skeet shooting, the half pieces of gum you kept in your car, the ongoing attempts of drawing water from the well, the infamous hopscotch playing, the beautiful corn twice as tall as me, the old and faded pictures of family and friends, the irreplaceable knives papa made, the day you rode my bicycle, the hot muggy summer afternoons, and so many other excellent memories.

But most dear of all, the thoughts that flood my mind the most, are of smiling faces, laughter, family, friends, good times and bad jokes, happiness and a carefree spirit, talk around the dinner table, conversations on the porch, stories made sweet by the passage of time, hugs and hands held around the table in prayer, the warmth of being with people who would always love you. Most of all, I remember the love between you and papa—a love that rarely showed itself outwardly in superficial ways, but a love that screamed and surged through the respect and concern that was shown toward each other.

I also remember the changes—the trees planted and now growing tall, things uprooted by hurricanes and the old house being torn down, my siblings growing through their childhood only to show their own children in what seems a few years later, older faces growing more wrinkled, bodies growing tall and strong-others weak and frail, times of innocence and a world gone crazy, and the crops booming before the leaves begin falling.

When I think of all that has passed, something so wondrous and special has slipped by—never to be redone. A time has passed that cannot be relived, and I am glad I was there to experience the best parts. Thank you grandmother…
For the longest time there was hardly a day to go by that I didn't think of papa. Now, sorry to say, because of everyday life it's not that often that I think of him; but when I do it is with great respect and envy. He was the best man I've ever known. He carved a life of honesty, integrity, and hard work. He built and left a legacy that I hope will stand through my generation. I am ashamed by my own life when I think of his and how he overcame so much hardship. The same fires that melt the wax of others’ lives purified the insignificance of his to leave a legacy of honor and nobleness.

I have always thought of papa as strength and integrity and of you as laughter and love. You laughed at the things in life that I took too seriously. You laughed at yourself to show me that we are indeed funny creatures. You laughed to show me that life isn't so bad after all. Thank you for laughing but most importantly for loving the way you do—often times in silence and toil, in firmness and fairness, in not complaining or fussing, but in a compulsive, quiet reserve that just keeps on wanting, hoping, and praying for the best in us.

I hope I've conveyed a little of what I feel through this letter. It is important, and I’ve been too long in the process of telling you. You deserve to know that you have meant so much to me. I hope to one day share these things with my own children (which will be quite some time from now) and tell them about all the wonderful things their great-grandmother and great-papa did.

Thanks so much, grandmother. I love you.

Your youngest grandchild,

Erin LaJune Henderson