I wrote this letter out on the grass of the old family farm in Minnesota the day after we found out my Mom had cancer.  This letter has so many memories attached to it. 

Dear Grandma,

We miss you.  I miss you.  I miss your stories, your strength, and your wisdom.  Oh how I could use your wisdom right now.  We all could.

There are so many questions that I want to ask you.  So many things that I want to tell you.  How’s Heaven?  Have you settled in to eternity?  Who was there to meet you?  I mean other than Grandpa.  What was it like to see Grandpa after almost 25 years?  Did it feel like 25 years or does time disappear instantly?   Have you met the baby that you mourned quietly for?  Were all your brothers there to meet you?  Oh, the conversations that you must have had!  Were your conversations in German or is there a whole new language in Heaven?  Have you met anyone famous that you never met but always wanted to?

What was the first thing you said to God?  Did you make him laugh?  I know how long you had been waiting for the moment that you would see God.  I am so happy for you.

You may not physically be at family gatherings but you are always in our memories, hearts – and conversations.  We’ve had some good laughs in remembrance of you.  Some of my recent favorites are my Uncles and Aunts telling stories of the trouble they used to get into as kids.  You had your hands full that’s for sure.  Your story telling ability has become a large part of your legacy and it has brought a lot of joy.  Thank you.

The old farmhouse and yard still brings a lot of peace to me and others in the family.  Auntie A has gardens and flower beds all over the yard.  She’s out here most evenings in the summer.  I don’t get out here as often as I would like but when I do it is the most incredible feeling.  My mind goes back to the joy and peace that I used to feel as a child.  I look at the back door that still has curtains in the window and I expect you to be standing there waving the way you did every time we left for home.  The wash line reminds me of the smell of your clean sheets in a warm bed – and how much trouble cousin M and I would get into if we went near the sheets when they were hanging.  The spot at the edge of the trees that used to have 2 tall trees with a swing in the middle.  I literally spent hours on that swing.  The slight slope of the sidewalk between the house and the garage door where Mike and I used to ride the wagon down with a good push from the other.  Our lack of steering ability shows in the dents in the garage door.

With no TV, no internet, no expensive toys it doesn’t sound like paradise to most kids but I don’t remember being bored.  There were always plenty of books to read for all ages on the shelves in the back bedroom, board games to play, naps to be taken, and a yard just waiting for the imagination to take over.

I think about you all the time.  You are so close and yet just out of reach.  I see you in myself and in my children.  I wish you had the chance to meet A.  I think you two would have understood each other.  His quiet mischievous nature reminds me of you.  I wish S could have more memories of you but my memories of the two of you are precious to me.  You, at 85, apologizing to a 3 year old for using the word stupid because S had been taught that it is a bad word will always bring a smile to my face.  You, pretending to be asleep in your rocking chair while S leaned on the arm looking up at you in awe.  Then your eyes would open slowly and a quiet “boo” would startle S and the two of you would laugh.

Thank you for the stories.  Thank you for your honesty.  Thank you for your faith.  Thank you for listening to the inner voice that seemed to be your constant companion and sharing your wisdom.

I love you.