when I was little. Nothing in particular just that I loved him and adored him and would follow him around like a puppy after work. He’d set off for the local pitstop and turn around halfway through to find me traipsing behind him with a grin on my face. So he would stop, stooped down to hug me and take me to the local grocery store instead to buy me an ice lolly. Which I’d clutched like a priceless gem in my hand to take back to my sisters. He had his favourite my dad and it wasn’t me. But it didn’t bother me in the slightest. I still loved and adored him even when I saw his inadequacies and short comings. The letters got increasingly more emotional and advisoral when I saw the way his life was going. But he never wrote back or took my advice. Although he did speak very fondly and highly of me I’ve been told after he passed away. He was the first man in my life I idolised and I still have fond memories of us a family before the naivety and innocence wore off. And the rot set in.
Wrote letters to him I did. Praying that in some small way it would reach abit of his soul still unblemished and initiate change. Words tending to fail me where emotions are concerned but I always pour myself into letters. But it had no affect at all and he just carried on as usual. Breaking my heart. And ultimately his own when he died alone in the end, on his own and in his bed. The thought still haunts me to this very day.
I wrote my mother letters as well while she alive, from the time I left for the college until the week she’d passed away. Yes we spoke on the phone but writing was what I loved best, being able to put on paper what I could not dare to say out aloud. But she loved my letters and would surprise me in the post with many of her own. She knew unequivocally how I felt about her and me vice versa.I wrote my other mum lots of cards and letter as well last year for some strange reason. Shoving them through her letterbox like I was a woman possessed. I never said how I felt out loud but I hoped that she knew. It’s just the way it is with me sometimes. Once I start I cannot stop until ive purged my very soul and clicked the reset button.
I’ve written my son and daughter letters from the momment they were conceived. One letter in a separate book for each month since they’ve been here. Trying to convey the complexities and depths of my emotions since they’ve arrived and turned my world upside down. At some point when they get married and have kids of their own, I will give them their books. A small memento of my bottomless endless love. Or a small gift to let them know I cared if I should ever die early in my sleep like my mum did.
I’ve written you letters too. From that painfully heartbreaking momment I gazed out of my window and saw you, to all the times you just showed up and took my blues away. I wrote you letters and poems and cards and thought myself crazy to keep them but crazier still if I didn’t get the words down. I prayed you knew how I felt even if the actual words failed me every time I saw you. I’ve written a lot of letters in my time. To friends. Family. Even lovely and grieving strangers I see online or in newspapers. I just go as I’m led and until my spirit is fed and back to equilibrium again.
This week I found out that the woman who took me in, raised me up and was instrumental in me going to college. My dearly beloved grandmother. Whom I adored with all my being and never got a chance to say so, is in the final stages of a terrible memory disease. She won’t recognise me any longer even if I saw or told her and this breaks my heart terribly. It doesn’t matter to me though. I know, recognise and will always love the person that she was and now is. And wished bitterly with all my heart that I’d written if only a letter to let her know even though we spoke on the phone from time to time.
Makes me feel like a proper orphan now with nothing but memories behind me and only more to make of my own choosing in front of me.
So do forgive me if every now and again I sit down to write you a letter. I just wanted you to know while I can, how dearly and wonderfully you are loved. God bless you.