mood: thoughtful
music: Vienna Teng – Eric’s Song
Dear Grandma,
When I made plans to come back to Iowa for Christmas break, I had an a list in my head of everyone I wanted to see. My best friend Brian, my sister, my parents. Everyone that I had done life with over the past twenty-three years that I missed so terribly when I moved away. And see them I did. I held Brian’s new baby girl and made her smile by making silly faces. I sang at Celebrate Recovery for the people at Point of Grace. I opened gifts Christmas morning with my parents and sister and Bill and enjoyed the sharing of time with family.
You were on that list, too – the list of people to see. I have many fond memories of you – babysitting us, letting us stay up late and watch TV. Wrapping the coins in your big green jar that sat on the bottom shelf of your bookcase. Listening to you tell us stories of when mom was little – standing in the front seat of the car not wearing a seat belt, your hand at the ready to fly out and prevent her from tumbling down when the car stopped abruptly.
And seeing you this Christmas was the most disappointing thing about my trip. Because you were awful to us all.
Somewhere, something went wrong. At some point in your life, your life beat you down. You became increasingly bitter, increasingly angry, and frankly, a whole lot less fun to be around.
And all that came to a head this Christmas when we all visited you. From your morbid and unceasing talk of death to your refusal to talk about anything even remotely cheery, we all gathered there in your living room feeling a little less happy each passing moment as you sat in your corner telling us all how miserable your life was. Old Yeller sat by the couch, frothing at the mouth. Bambi’s mother lay in the corner, licking her wounds. Over by the window, Simba’s dad was being trampled by a stampeding herd of gazelles.
This was a room of death, depression, and shameless emotional manipulation.
And all this doesn’t even really bother me. I can deal with it. You’re ready to die – no big deal. I’m sure when your health declines and you live alone there comes a point at which you decide you’ve lived a good long life and you’re ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. I get that.
But you crossed the line telling my sister that her hug was “a meaningless gesture”. That was BS, and I’m calling you on it, because nobody else will.
You made Hope cry. She went home and cried because you refused a hug. A gesture of love. When she tried to reach out to you and tell you that she still loves you, despite your being impossible to get along with you stiffened, refused to return it, and called it a meaningless gesture.
Meaningless.
What sort of events transpire in someone’s life that would cause them to say something like that to their granddaughter? Really, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that saying that was quite possibly the rudest, most unkind thing I’ve heard come from you. It was completely, utterly, totally uncalled for. It was the bitter frosting on the horrific little dish of animosity you served to all of us that afternoon.
I don’t care what you say to me. Really. Heck, I’m probably burning my inheritance writing this to you. I don’t care. Be as nasty as you want to me, or anyone else for that matter. We’ve all been more than patient with you, and everyone else probably will be. But don’t continue to think that your words and actions have no effect on anyone else in the world. Nobody told me to write this, or even knows that I’m going to, so don’t take anything I’ve said to you out on them. Honestly, I want you to pick up the phone right now and call Hope and mom and invite them to coffee. Invite them into your life again. I sincerely hope you do.
Yours very truly,
Craig
I never sent this. I had every intention of sending it, but then she suffered some more health problems, and the time just never seemed right. I had second thoughts on whether it was the right thing to do at all. I kind of wish I had sent it – but I think I missed the right time. Oh well.
Exit, stage left.
Sparks