A Letter From The Grandparent You Left Behind
These letters from my grandparents are for you, too.
When I left home 5 years ago, I left my grandparents behind. My grandfather, Francis, and my grandmother, Patricia, lived on a farm in the deep woods of Vermont. They boiled sap into maple syrup, using a horse and trailer to collect their buckets of liquid gold. They took care of the leftover cows from the days when their farm was a bustling business, and snuggled the many misfit cats and dogs they’d welcomed as family.
That was until this past summer, when my grandfather fell ill, and died. He was 94, and he was invincible. It broke me, but for more reasons than my overwhelming love and admiration of him.
My entire family had grown up within an hour’s drive of each other in Vermont, and it spun us into a tightly-knit web. In my youth, my grandmother spent many weekdays with me while my parents worked to pay the bills. I slept over at the farm more times than I can count, looking starry-eyed out the car window at the Tunnel of Trees: the name of the first book I ever wrote, in first grade. My only tattoo is a nautical wheel on my arm representing what my grandfather used to tell me, “Be the captain of your own ship.” But then in my early twenties I made the biggest—and hardest—turn of my ship until that point: I moved to San Francisco. I had a fine job, I had childhood friends I loved, and the most enduring, unconditional family love a boy could feel. I left it all.
I didn’t know the many struggles that were ahead, but I knew the hardest one: I knew I would miss the end of my grandparents’ lives, and ultimately, their deaths. And I did.
When my grandfather passed last summer, he was surrounded by family and friends in his final moments. They held him before he died, and each other afterwards. Children and grandchildren collapsed together, grieving together, on the old dusty floors of the farmhouse. I wasn’t there. I grieved alone.
The reason I’m telling you this is not for sympathy, but because I know I’m not the only one in this particular boat. If this has happened to you, or if you’re about to make a big decision but you’re afraid to because of a relative, I want to share with you some handwritten letters my grandparents sent to me in San Francisco. I expressed to them my fear of leaving them, and what they told me is what I look back on when I feel what can only be guilt’s weight settle on me. These letters have been slightly altered for grammar and to leave out personal remarks that might take away from your experience, but added to mine. Think of your own grandparents, or borrow mine for just a few minutes. I’d like them back when you’re done, but I think they were speaking to more than just me.
For context, I wrote them this letter in November of 2015.
Dear Grandma and Grandpa,
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I have written to you. City life is hard to keep up with when you’re a Vermont country bumpkin! I have missed you though, never more than lately, and I can’t wait to see you for Christmas. I have booked my tickets home and will be there from December 19th to 28th. Seeing the two of you is the highlight of my visits home.
Things are well, but changing as always here in SF. The move has been admittedly hard. Really hard. The world is spinning madly for me right now, but I know it will smooth out soon enough. Writing to you always helps.
Sorry to disappoint, Grandpa, but no new romances to report just yet! Still working on making friends. It is fascinating to me how lonely a place so bustling and full of life and people can feel sometimes. It’s still a great experience, though. I’ve had to learn a lot about myself in the process. Someone wise once told me that was a good thing.
I think of both of you often. I know I’m far away, but I like to think this is the type of adventure Grandpa would have been on in my shoes. No finer fuel than knowing your family is behind you all the way, even if the distance is difficult on both sides for so many reasons.
I love you both, and I can’t wait to see you at Christmas. If you feel the inspiration, I’ll await your reply!
Love,
Grandson
My grandmother’s reply came in first, a couple of weeks later. She was 84 at the time.
Hi Alex!
It was such a treat to get your letter — the fact that it was hand written was not lost on us. Very special!!
Yes, we miss you too. But I have known all along that you would need to spread your wings and explore. It makes me excited for you, and I am confident that whatever stumbling blocks occur, and there are always many, you will find your way around them. You have talent, motivation and drive — how can that not conquer everything when you put your mind to it? You have always delved deeply into things—research, emotions, relationships—it’s an unusual attribute. Those unusual ones are the ones to stick to.
Our family is unique in its closeness in part because we have always been nearby geographically, but also because for us it is more important than anything else. That doesn’t change with distance. We will always be close no matter where we are. At our last gathering I looked around that long table and I was so proud of all of you and so grateful that my life has been so full. It’s full because of all of you.
We will look forward to seeing you soon, but in the meantime grab every new opportunity, sing every new song, pursue your dreams and know we support and love you, no matter where you are.
Keep happy. Lots of love.
Grandma
My grandfather’s reply came second, marked December 1, 2015. He was nearly 91, and it was the last letter he would ever write me.
Dear Grandson,
Wouldn’t you know, Grandma beat me to it! By the time I finish writing this letter she will have flown over the snowcapped mountains and plains to your doorstep already. Both Grandma and I were stunned, astonished, and yes joyously delighted to receive your handwritten letter. So unexpected from a computer composer!
Now you need to know that I was with you every mile you drove west, “reliving” the great journey I did with my friend Paul in 1950. We visited friends for four or five days, riding cable cars and repeatedly crossing the bay bridge in our beautiful 1935 Ford Phaeton. What a car! It did almost 11,000 miles that summer with barely a whimper! Great fun and vividly remembered, as this time will be for you one day.
My dear grandson, I wish to hell I could visit you in dear old San Francisco, but you’re doing now exactly what you need to do. I feel your joy, your anxiety, your exhilarating anticipation of “Wow! What’s next?” Your loving family will want to know—all the time—what next? Know that Grandma and I’s toes are beginning to wriggle with excitement knowing that you are flying east soon to share hugs, laughter, drinks and adventures. Know that we miss you, but none more than the dogs who are most eager to “take in” any California dog smells that may be lingering on your shoes or pants!
Your letters of adventures, hopes, loves, and thoughts are the basic foods for the sustenance of grandparents. Oh how we cherish the adventures, triumphs, trials, advances in maturity and accomplishments! You must realize that the main purpose of grandchildren is to make it possible for their grandparents to live their last years in joy and remembrance. So, grandson, I am most proud of your creative, adventurous spirit and actions. In the “olympics of life” you’ve shown you can take on life and triumph. That’s enough for us.
I love you,
Grandpa
