Letters to My Granny: Healing Through Memory and Loss

Sometimes pain makes you forget. Run. Hide. Sometimes true pain—the kind that cuts so deep it reaches the core of your soul—leads you to a lifetime of running away from it. That day was May 23rd, 1995. The day my Granny died before my eyes when I was 14 years old. My best friend drew her last breath in my presence, and I felt my first sense in this life that I was truly alone.

I sit here now, 30 years later, having allowed myself in my forties to go back and revisit my time with her. The lessons I learned. The love she gave me, even through her at times harsh nature. Until now, I was not ready to unpack our life together. The day she died, a part of my soul died with her. And I stuffed it all away—with good choices, bad choices, and anything else I could use to keep the memories and pain at bay.

Healing is an interesting journey. By no means is it linear. It rises and falls like ocean waves, leaving emotions in a constant state of turmoil if not tended to. And that young man whose life was forever changed on that fateful day is now ready to deal with the pain and celebrate the life of my Granny—the person who gave everything to try and give me a life worth living.

My goal with this blog is to tell her story, tell my story, and tell the stories of so many others who impacted my life, both good and bad, through letters to her. These are the letters that would have been conversations and learning lessons if she had not died so prematurely. These are the letters where I want to bare my soul to her, welcome her into the last thirty years, and honor her for the sacrifices she made to help me find my path, even if it took decades.

These are my letters to my Granny. May her memory be honored in the storytelling to come.