Let Her Be

Letters from time

This is story about love. Well not really at all actually.

Last night my mom received these letters in the mail. Don’t get me wrong these letters are fascinating. I love anything about history and these letters are from the 1930’s and 1940’s from my grandfather to my grandmother and vice versa. Some are during wartime, some are when they are 17 and there are even telegrams in there! We live in a time where nobody writes letters anymore so to see a group of letters bundled together with string is something that you really only see in the movies.

Each letter is about the love my grandfather has for my grandmother. Each painstakingly long letter describes in detail that is a bit to personal even for me how much he loves her and misses her and needs her.

Besides the .1 cent stamp, amazing telegrams from Western Union, the stamps from 1939 and on, the letters really don’t mean too much to me. My grandparents never loved my mom and her grandkids the way they loved each other and I could tell that made my mom really sad. They had so much love for each other that there just was no room in their hearts for love for any other blood relative (or at least a blood relative that came out of her uterus or a blood relative that came out of the uterus of the one that came out of hers).

When I received letters from my grandmother they contained quotes such as “one day you will become a respectful woman and will learn to be wise and say thank you.” I was 7 and she didn’t think I thanked her enough for the gold earrings she sent me. These continued through the years ending in college on my 18th birthday when she sent me a card and told me that even though I wasn’t a nice person, she loved me anyway. I remember ripping that one in half, crying in my dorm room, writing her back saying I don’t want anything to do with her anymore, and then keeping the card so I can one day talk about it in my blog.

My grandmother had a mother who loved her and showed it. Then in turn she didn’t show love for my mother. Then my mother showed me love. Does that mean that every other generation, one mother loves one less?  Like balding and thinning hair? Does this mean I won’t love my kids enough? No of course not, but I figured I would put that in there to make you feel bad for me for a second. I would never talk to my children and grandchildren the way she talked to me. She told my mom when I was 2 that she thought I had Tourette’s Syndrome. I was 2. I probably couldn’t even say the words “fuck fuck” or “fuck you you fucking asshole” yet. I mean, I just had to google how to spell it a minute ago.


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