That's the name that appeared on the blue envelopes that arrived for me every few months when I was a little girl. There's a special joy in receiving mail, even now as an adult I get a little thrill when I see a personalized envelope mixed in with all the bills. What was even more special was that these blue envelopes came to me all the way from England.
It might have been the Spice Girls, or a desire to find my individual culture and heritage, but I was an Anglophile through and through and the stamps bearing the Queen's cameo always struck a chord. What was more important than the content of these letters was what they represented: a connection to my Grandmother.
My Grandmother is a woman that I knew very little of, and yet, found a way to know a lot. She lived so far away and I was only able to visit her twice in the time that I was old enough for it to be remembered, but through our letters back and forth over many years I was able to get to know her.
She was a reader. A voracious one. She liked plays, and novels and she liked to watch her stories. She was someone intensely interested in the world around her and what the people in it were doing with it. She was intellectually very acute and I suspect she knew more than many people gave her credit for in her long years. Being a woman in her time may not have always been easy for someone with her intellectual fortitude but I suspect it was that fortitude that allowed her to draw such strength.
I still remember the last letter she sent to me before she suffered a debilitating stroke that left her paralyzed on one side and incapable of returning my letters. The tone was markedly different from her usual letters. She usually liked to commiserate with me about the tedious nature of housework, or encourage me to read a new novel she was particularly enjoying, or to inquire about what plays we were putting on that month at the theatre where I worked. This letter had the ring of a goodbye. It spoke more generally about the lessons to draw out of life and the things to keep my focus on. My grandma was no fool and I think she knew that stroke was coming for her.
Remarkably, she survived it and managed to carry on. (She was English after all). She went on to stay in a lovely nursing home where I was able to visit her two years ago over Christmas with my Dad and Marilyn. Though she could no longer write to me, I continued to send her letters and share my life with her. I admit that they were not as frequent as I think she deserved but I do know that she liked getting them and I liked writing them.
My last letter, sent last week and express posted had that same change in tone I suspect as the one that she sent me before her stroke. I spoke of how much she had taught me and how valuable she was to me. I don't know if she got that last letter but this time, I knew that it was coming to an end.
My trip to England in November will now be so that we can scatter her ashes. Though she is gone, I am still very grateful that I was able to have such a relationship with my grandmother, all the way on the other side of the ocean who showed me what strength and dignity can look like and that there is a root inside me that I can trace back to answer the question of why I've always loved to read.
Rest in Peace.
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