In the days after we lost my Grandma, five or so years after the onset of her dementia, I began writing short “Dear Grandma” letters—something like an invocation, a prayer, a mantra. They would ultimately come to form the eulogy that I shared with my family at the funeral. Two years later, largely catalyzed by the death of my Grandpa a few months ago—and the compounded experience of grief that that brought on—I began that practice again. Dear Grandma, Dear Grandma, Dear Grandma.
Some letters are specifically about my relationship to her. And some are just me just trying to work some things out, with the hope that she might be willing to listen. I imagine us sitting at her kitchen table. Talking about the things that make my head spin or my heart swell. I miss her. And I visit her here, now, as a vital and necessary practice for my well being.
I will be sharing excerpts here, as part of a larger collection of essays on family and identity, history and belonging, a book project in the making. They begin with Dear Grandma.
Dear Grandma: some thoughts on Danish butter cookies, and the simplicity of magic
And as I went to crack open the tin, I was struck by the fact that it would have never occurred to me that you just stopped by your local pharmacy or grocery store to pick up these cookies. It was unfathomable that it was that simple, that easy, this magic you made in our lives each and every day.
Dear Grandma: some thoughts on Stick Season, and bearing loss
In the Spring, about a week after Grandpa died, I was in the car, on my way home from Yoga, and I also started weeping—the kind of weeping that you can’t imagine ending when you’re in the middle of it. That time “Everywhere, Everything” was filling my car like a symphony.
Dear Grandma: some thoughts on nation, and memory
We probably recited that pledge with more vigor, under our teacher’s direction. The ritual of it probably felt so much more vital to her on that day. Maybe she offered up her own child-sized words, to us, trying to explain why today, especially, this recitation was important. That our attention, our allegiance, was critical.
Dear Grandma: some thoughts on butterflies, and God
You and Grandpa were always inviting me around the table, the two of you deeply integral to everything that I would become. So, I imagine that that is where I am sitting, when I tell you about what it was to fall in love, and to lose our God in the wake of it all.