Katherine Owen lives near Seattle in a suburb overlooking Lake Washington in a very old house with her husband and two children. She has written and released three novels: Seeing Julia (Zola Award Winner), Not To Us, and When I See You. She is hard at work on her next novel which is due out late summer 2012.
For more information about her novels, writing, and life in general, visit her website where she uses edgy language and a little bit of sarcasm in observing life as a writer. Get in touch with her via her contact page at the website. She’d love to hear from you.
Find Katherine online at katherineowen.net
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Linda Barton
Dear Grandma,
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It’s been far too long since I’ve written to you, and for that I am truly sorry. I hope everything is going well for you. Bob and I are doing well, as are the children and grandchildren. Bob has been staying busy with driving on a dedicated load, and I have been working hard on my writing.
With the end of summer just a few weeks away, I find myself remembering back to the happy summer days spent with you and grandpa on the farm when I was a child. It was a treat to come for a visit because you always made me feel loved and wanted.
Grandma, I wish I could tell you of the precious gift you gave me. Not something bought from the store, but the gift of unconditional love. Life is a difficult journey, but it’s a person like you that makes the journey worthwhile.
The other day when I went to see Amber’s new house, I wondered what Syrea and Ralphie would remember of their time spent with me. Will I leave them with the same feelings of love that you gave to me? Would they smile every time the memories of our time together flowed into their minds? You taught me how to be a grandmother, and I pray that I can be 1/10th the grandmother you were to all of your grandchildren.
Do you remember that summer when Jan and I kept stealing turnips from your garden? I laugh now, remembering back to how we would sneak to your garden, grab the green leaves on the turnips, and pull them out of the ground while giggling and running away. Then we would run to the barn and climb up into the hayloft, where we would eat our stolen treat. To this day, I don’t understand why we went for the turnips. I guess it was because they were big and easy to snatch and run. The funny thing is I ate so many of them that summer that I cannot stand the sight of them today.
Years later, Jan and I were reminiscing of that time and we wondered why we didn’t go for your strawberries, but remembering what silly, little girls we both were then, we knew the truth – we just weren’t smart thieves.
Grandma, I want you to know what a positive influence you had on my view of life. You taught me how to appreciate the simple moments and for that, I will always be grateful. Your silent strength and gentle spirit are what I admire so deeply. Too many times, I find the world closing in around me, and when I’m on the verge of lashing out, I remember your example. I only wish more people had your wisdom because the world would be a much better place.
As I sit here writing this letter, I cannot help but remember grandpa loading all of us grandchildren on the wagon and pulling us out to the pond to go fishing. I smile when I remember all us kids bouncing around on that old beat up wagon, while grandpa grinned as he drove his tractor down the dirt road. I remember the cattle walking up to the wagon and taking handfuls of hay from us, as all us girls giggled and the boys teased us. Then once we got to the pond, we would all jump off the wagon and us girls would run around, while grandpa and the boys dug for worms. I remember the first time I caught a fish, and how I cried when I learned that I wasn’t supposed turn it loose to go back to its family in the pond. I do have to admit I thought that fish and it’s friends tasted great that night for dinner.
Then once each of us had caught our fill of fish, we all jumped back on the trailer and rode to the creek to pick berries so you would make one of your delicious cobblers. I still laugh when I remember the excited look on dad’s face when the hot, bubbling cobbler came out of the oven. He would always say, “Here’s mine, but where’s the one for the rest of you!” I didn’t understand it at the time, but now that I’m grown I realize that whenever we would come for a visit dad must have enjoyed being his mommy’s little boy again.
I treasure the memory of those times, when we would all fill our plates with food, and then sit around the yard, laughing and enjoying the warm summer day. How many times have I closed my eyes and watched as the image of happy grandchildren playing catch with a potato, or running around the yard catching fire flies flowed through my mind. Then we would carefully put the glowing bugs in a Mason jar and use them as a nightlight beside the large bed we would all snuggle into, to keep us safe from the monster that we were convinced lived in the tree just outside the large picture window. I smile whenever I think back to all the times we would sit at the top of the stairs and bounce down them, one-step at a time only to crash into the wall at the bottom. Then we would jump to our feet, laughing, and run back to the top to do it all over again. As I write this to you now, I can almost feel the bruise returning to my backside that I would always have after sliding down those hard, wooden stairs.
Grandma, you taught me so many things lost to most people today. Like how to make lye soap, or how a chicken will have several undeveloped eggs inside of it. The proper time to plant certain vegetables, and a lesson that I will never forget which is that just because pigs may seem nice, you must never come between them and their food. I know you did your best not to laugh at the site of Jan and I running and screaming like a couple of fools from those pigs when we got in their pen, and then the looks on our faces when we both fell in the mud when we dove over the fence to get away from the pigs. We both knew we had broke the rule, but you simply looked at us as we stood there covered in mud and I hate to think of what else, and said, “Are you girls going to do that again?” Then you pointed to the garden hose and told us to clean ourselves up before coming in the house. Jan and I hung our heads in shame and never broke that rule again.
Grandma, I don’t understand why the Lord took Jan so soon. She was only forty-eight years old when an aneurism struck her and so full of life, but you reminded us that we should not be sad, and have faith that she’s in heaven with grandpa.
Life is such a strange thing, isn’t it? We come into life, and if we are fortunate enough, we had a loving family to grow up in and learn how to be a person who will carry on the traditions with our own families. You were always the anchor in our family, grandma. You taught us how to love in such a way that everyone was convinced that they were your favorite. I remember one afternoon when all of us grandchildren were in the yard playing and the discussion started about who was your favorite grandchild. Each of us had our own story of the special things you did for us, and how we knew to the depth of our heart that we were your favorite. The discussion at one point grew quite heated, as each of us became angry how someone could ever believe that you loved him or her the most. I knew in my heart that I was your favorite because of all the special things we shared, but as I look back on that time, I realize that was your gift to each of us thirteen grandchildren. You made us believe that we were special and that you loved us with all your heart.
When I think of all the children born that will never know that type of love, it breaks my heart. Every child should know what it feels like to be special, and to know that they are loved unconditionally.
You gave me that gift, and I will treasure the memories of our time together until I leave this life. I will also strive to be the type of grandmother to my grandchildren that you were to me.
My heart breaks as I remember the day I received the telephone call that you were ill. Bob and I were on the road, but he said that we needed to get to you as soon as possible. When I walked into your bedroom and saw you sitting in your bed, I knew it was time to say goodbye. Grandma, I will never forget the look on your face, a look of complete tranquility. As we sat there and visited for the last time, I cannot help but remember your words to me. You told me how proud you were that I was your granddaughter, and how I had turned into a wonderful woman and mother. I remember the tears in your eyes when I asked you to tell grandpa how much I love and miss him once you join him in heaven. I know your tears were not tears of sadness, but tears of knowing we would never see each other again in this life.
Bob and I will speak of that day from time to time, and it always brings a smile to our faces. He will always say how you welcomed him into the family with such love, and he misses the way you would tease him. I’m so thankful to have had the opportunity to say goodbye, and I know that you and grandpa are watching over all of us.
I love you grandma, and your memory lives on in all of us grandchildren who used to play together in your yard those long summer days all those years ago.
Eternally yours,
Linda