What I'm holding onto now that my grandma is gone

Growing up, the relationship I had with my grandma was a unique one. She didn’t always know how to relate to my sister and me on a deeper level in person, but the one act of love she expressed so faithfully was writing letters to us. They were often enclosed with cash and a description of what she did that week and who she saw.

As a child, I often took her letters for granted. They came every birthday, Christmas and Easter like clockwork. I didn’t know how special it was then — perhaps because it was common. I thought every grandma was so consistent and caring.

In my early 30s, when my kids wore diapers and I was sleep deprived, my grandma began growing weaker and slowing down. She no longer had the energy and stamina to write at her desk. I found myself missing her notes and wondering if mail from her would ever come again.

I missed reading her cursive handwriting — often in blue ink — and seeing her name written on the top left-hand corner of the envelope. I missed her thoughtfulness, but I could begin praying for her in assisted living. I could keep sending her letters and pictures.

In July, I was able to Facetime with her through my mom’s phone while she visited Grandma one afternoon. She still couldn’t believe the advances in technology and seeing her granddaughter and great-grandchildren through the screen. That day she was struggling, weary and tired. All I could say was, “I’m praying for you, Grandma.” My eyes watered and heart sank because I knew time was running out.

“That’s about all we can do,” she replied slowly and resolutely.

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