Letter 54 – My Mother and Her Mother

Garrett,

When you died, my family went into a tailspin. My parents, my brother and my sister. My brother and sister were probably mostly concerned for me, after the initial shock of hearing the news. My parents, though, they took it hard, bud. Really hard. Not only did they hurt for me, but they loved you. They loved you, Garrett, and I can only imagine how their grief is compounded by knowing what I’m going through, too. Their child. Who lost her child. That’s a hard one, Garrett. A really hard one.

When I visited my parents, my mom told me about how she wakes up in the early morning and lays in bed and thinks about her past. This might be something that age and facing death does. It compels a person to reexamine their lives. I do. Looking at the wrong turns, trying to identify the pivotal moments when a different decision could have been made, flicking through a rolodex of regrets.

My mom told me about something she’d been chewing on that happened between her and her mother, hurtful things my mom said to her. I know that she has wrestled with the death of her mother for a long time. Her mother died when she was a late teenager, and I know she has wished for her mother many times over the years, and wished for conversations that were never had.

My mom said that she said terrible things to her mother that never got resolved before her mother died. And how she wished she could have talked to her before then, so it could have been sorted out and made okay. And I thought of you, Garrett. About how you also said terrible things to me in your later years. And there is one thing that I absolutely know about that. I know that none of it matters. Nothing you said changed my love for you. No matter what you said, it became nothing from the moment the words were out of your mouth. You said things because you were hurt, or angry or fearful, and I know you would take it all back if you could. But you don’t need to. Anything you ever said like that is dust, and has no hold.

I told my mom, I am sure, that wherever your mother is, she doesn’t think a thing about any of that. I am sure, whatever you said, it is meaningless in the face of her love for you. I am sure, if she could reach down and tell you everything was ok, she would do it. There is no forgiveness to ask for, because it has already been given and those words are now wiped from the face of this earth. There is only love for you. If she could tell you this, she would. There is no doubt in my mind about any of that. No doubt at all.

I felt so strongly that I knew what I was talking about. I knew that my mother’s mother would never want my mother to labor over these old hurts. I knew this because it is what any mother would want for her child. It is what my mother would say to me, if she heard me telling her these things. It is what I say to you, Garrett, something I know is true and deep and eternal. All hurtful words are gone. They have blown away and disappeared in the wind. There is only love. And that love is there for you, always. To my mother, please know that this is true for you, too, with your mother. I have absolutely no doubt.