Over the last couple of weeks, we have been doing cleaning around the house. It is always interesting the things that you find when you do this. Sometimes you find wonderful treasures that bring back wonderful memories. Sometimes you find things that bring back memories you would rather not recall – those are the things you get rid of. Then there are times you find things that you thought were a great idea, but now as you look at the item you found, you are left with wonder and doubt.
As anyone who has been with me from the start of my writings know, it has been a little over a year since we lost my mom. Her passing was quick and unexpected. One day we were talking about things she was going to be doing in the future and the next she was in a hospital. A week later and I was rushing home – making it just in time to say good-bye.
We have already lived through the year of first withouts. The first Thanksgiving without being able to call and talk to her about the family dinner. The first Christmas of Nancy, our daughter, and I flying home to be with the family and yet there was an empty space at the table. The first for each of the birthdays passing and no card arriving. The oh so many times in which I picked up a phone and told Siri to call her only to be informed that there was no phone number for mom. Sometimes it takes that voice from your phone, “I’m sorry. I can’t find a contact for Mom.” to remind you of what you already know.
So, what does the passing of my mom have to do with finding things while cleaning the house – a lot. First though, I need to share this “brilliant” idea I had 9 years ago this very week. 9 years ago, our little girl was just that – a little girl. She was preparing to turn 1. I sat and thought about what present I could give a little girl about to turn 1. The age where an empty box meant more than whatever came inside. The age where everything was still new. The age where no one yelled at you for sticking your hands in the birthday cake; everyone laughed. What could a sentimental dad give his little girl.
I came to the understanding that I was no spring chicken of a dad. By that day 9 years ago, I had already been mistaken as the grandfather a number of times. I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to be the dad who had a full head of gray hair long before she graduated. I accepted that it was going to take a lot of work on my part to stay up with her during her teens years. More importantly, I knew that if had these thoughts about myself, that I worried just how long her grandparents and other relatives would be around to celebrate birthdays for her. With all of this running through my brain, I came up with a gift.
I reached out to family and friends at that time and asked them to prepare birthday cards for our little one for her tenth, sixteenth, and eighteenth birthdays. Not knowing what fate would do to our lives, I wanted for them to have a chance to be with her as long as possible. Catching on to what I found?
In my desk drawer are two envelopes. It seems like every 6 or 7 months I stumble across these envelopes. Both are addressed to my daughter on her 10th birthday. One envelope is from her Grandfather and Grandmother (Nancy’s parents). Her Grandfather is still with us and, we are happy to say, will be spending Christmas with us. Her Grandmother is now gone over two years. We do not know which person wrote the letter. It sits there patiently waiting.
The other envelope is from my Mom. I saw it often when she was still with us. It brought a smile to my face every time I moved items around in the drawer and it would peek out from under a pile of papers. In the last year, I find that when I am in the drawer and I see the corner of the envelope, I take it out, I hold it, I look at it, I wonder. It is funny. I never wondered about the words it contained until she passed. Perhaps I knew I could always ask what was in the letter. I never did for I wanted to honor and respect the privacy of the author and recipient. Now – I can no longer ask; I just hold it.
The big day is not far away – 3 weeks. I am not sure how our daughter will handle receiving letters from those who have passed (there are plenty of cards from people still with us). I have thought about the proper time to give her the letters – it is a school day.
I guess that we will wait until after dinner to give her the letters. We will not make a big deal out of it, but we will let her know who sent them. We will then give her the choice to go off and read them by herself for these are private letters. I know I worry over nothing. I know these letters are filled with love and hope for our little one’s future. I know that they will be words that she will be able to hold and treasure for the rest of her life.
I am not sure why I am worried about these letters. Perhaps it is reading the words of loved ones who are no longer with us. Perhaps it is seeing how these words will affect a happy celebration. Perhaps, just perhaps, it saddens me to realize that the reason I decided to ask for these letters in the first place actually came true. I think it is a little bit of all of those.
So tonight, I can just open my drawer and see the envelopes sitting there waiting – just waiting. I am counting the days that 9 years ago seemed so far away only to realize that they number less than 30. I will continue to wait, and – if our daughter decides not to share them and keep them close to her heart – I may never know what the spirits of her loving Grandmothers had to say.