Dear Grandma,

I turned 10 just two weeks before you passed away.

10.

That means I had 10 short years, from my birth to your death, to form and cement any memories of you in my little girl brain. Looking back, and realizing how young I was, the years we had together seem like a pin point in time. But I want to thank you, because you managed to make a mark on my little girl memory that was positive, lasting.

I”ll be honest, I don’t remember a lot of details about our time together. I remember you sitting a lot, and I remember you playing the piano a lot. I know you were sick and in pain most of the years I was alive, but you were always there.

One memory remains cemented in detail. One little girl moment translated to a long-term memory I hold dear as an adult. It reveals the love of a 10-year-old granddaughter for her grandmother, a little tucked-away secret of my heart.

We were sitting at your kitchen table, the white one with the sparkly silver flecks. Yellow and white painted cupboards were in front of us, and those bright red, white, and orange fruit-patterned curtains were to our right.

We sat side by side, paging through the girls’ clothing section of a JCPenney catalog. You must have been really sick, because there was a JCPenney in town, and I’m sure we would have gone there if we could. We’d made a lot of trips to your house, and deep in my little 9-year-old-girl heart, I knew this was going to be one of the last times I’d “go shopping” with you. My task was to pick an outfit. You were buying. I narrowed my choices to a sky blue sweater, a striped blue and white button down shirt, and sky blue pants.

And it wasn’t so much the picking of the outfit that stuck in my heart all these years, it was what I thought to myself after I made my selections and we’d placed the order – I’m going to keep this outfit forever.

The outfit arrived, you passed, and I’m sad to say I never did keep that outfit forever like I promised myself at the table that day.

What I did keep was the memory of that moment. Knowing myself, there must have been something very, very special about you that I wanted to tuck away, to literally KEEP. forever. So I did. I kept all of my memories, specifically that memory, close to my heart.

I can wish you were alive to see me graduate not once but all three times, I can wish you would have there to see me walk down the aisle, I can wish you’d been there when my babies were born. And I can even wish you were still alive, so I could come visit you tomorrow. We’d have coffee and cookies, chat about days gone by, and your grandma advice about every little thing would be golden.

But we had our time, you made your mark. Your impact on my 10-year-old little-girl heart was deep, forever.

I tucked those sky blue pants and that sky blue sweater in the deep recesses of my mind, and I’m looking forward with great anticipation to the day we’ll meet in the forever-blue skies of heaven. You’ll lead me to the place where the world’s greatest musicians, writers, and artists gather, and we’ll hang. You’ll play a tune on the piano for me and a great big crowd of witnesses, and we’ll linger in the glory of eternity. Together. Forever.

Thank you grandma. I remember, I’m waiting,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Florence,

What can I say?

You were my “babysitter.” These days, you’d otherwise be known as my child care provider or home day care provider. But you weren’t just any child care provider, you were like a mom and a grandma rolled into one, or a great auntie who just happened to take care of me while my parents were at work. There was nothing provided at your home but care.

I’m pretty sure I started going to your house when I was a toddler. I was the first of three kids from my family to grow up in your care, and not one of us had a bad experience.

Dad brought me, or maybe it was mom. Oh, it didn’t even matter, because when we pulled in your driveway, it was like driving back home. I remember walking up the sidewalk to your house like it was yesterday. There was your door, all we had to do was open, no ringing of doorbells was needed at your house. We walked in and there you were, up just a few steps to the left, waiting to greet us the second we walked in. I took off my coat, hung it on one of the hooks to the right, hugged dad or mom, and up the stairs I went.

And while I was there? I recall nothing but pure enjoyment.

Down the long hall, we played in that back bedroom. Honestly, I don’t even know what we played, but we played for hours and it was a blast.

In the morning and after nap time, we watched a little TV in your living room. Captain Kangaroo, Sesame Street, Electric Company and Mr. Rogers were favorites at your house, especially Mr. Rogers, he was the best!

In-between times, you’d send us outside for some “fresh air.” We played on the swing set, built snowmen, picked bright yellow wild flowers and weeds from the field at the edge of your property, and engaged in a multitude of other fun outdoor adventures. We hung out on a big swing you set up half way between your house and the baseball field in the backyard. We must have talked about some pretty cool things on that swing, because I can still visualize it distinctly.

When it was lunch time, you served up the best homemade delights. Hamburger–tomato-cabbage casserole was one of my favorites as was pea soup. And my favorite snack of all time? Cold pancakes topped with peanut butter and jelly rolled up into snacking perfection! I’ve never tried making those myself, but not sure I want to. I know I’ll never get them quite right.

My day care friends were like a second family – Todd, Becky & Krista, Tanya & Melissa, Ryan & Reid, Amy & Aaron, and Ann & Joanie. They were all there at one point or another, and others, of course. Making a paper doll house with Ann was a highlight, and I’ll never forget the time Ann and I got the giggles so bad we couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard we tried.

And your gem-of-a-husband, Derald? He was always around with his big smile, poking fun and teasing just enough to make us laugh in delight.

When I got older and went to school instead of your house every day, I was more than happy to be in your care on days off. We were teachers’ kids, but still made visits in the summer, and to this day, mom loves the occasional drop-by your house on her way through.

You loved us to pieces, tended to every need, and made our days fun, relaxing, and stimulating. When discipline was needed, you weren’t afraid to administer it. We respected you and loved you like no other. And maybe I missed my mom and dad, but I sure don’t remember it.

Thank you for being the absolute BEST babysitter I could have ever asked for,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Jamie,

Thank you for being my childhood friend.

You were my friend before anyone else was my friend. You’re the one I knew the longest. You’re the one that comes to mind when my daughter and her friend Ellie paint their faces pink or laugh until chocolate chip cookies come spilling out of their mouths.

We shared most everything between preschool and high school.

We played, and we played, and then we played some more. We played in my room, we played in your room, we played on the stairs, on the deck, on the swing set, on the playground, in your treehouse, at the beach, at the park, at school, and just about every other place a kid could possibly play.

And who knows how many birthday parties we shared? We brought it, girl. Pin the tail on the donkey, Strawberry Shortcake, roller skating, Pizza Hut followed by a movie, sleepovers, and a sweet sixteen bash to name a few. Birthday cakes topped with sugary-hard candy letters and gumdrops were awesome, almost always homemade by our moms.

Speaking of moms and dads, there were plenty of Barb’s sloppy joes and homemade pickles (the post I wrote about her pickles was a reader’s favorite by the way). And my dad would remind us to abide by “Minnesota State High School League” rules, which we both knew meant…don’t even TRY a drop of alcohol!

We did dance together, band together, choir together, musicals together, prom together (remember my lovely turquoise sequined dress and your Barbie-style sheath with puffy gold sleeves?), and we even collected Muffy VanderBears together. Tennis was a blast. Singles, doubles, we did it together. And remember how strangers thought we were twins?

And then there were the random memories in the making…playing dress up and pretending we were models, eating Totinos pizzas on your basement couches with our families, stuffing so many Skittles in our mouth we ended up spitting them out everywhere, dancing at Busters night club for teens, chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce, and braiding Sam’s hair at tennis camp.

But high school graduation was inevitable, and before we knew it, we were separated. Different colleges, different paths.

You came back for my wedding where we regrouped for two wonderful days with the closest of friends and family.

Then, for a short time before we had kids and before you were married, we had the fortune of reconnecting as full-fledged adults through date nights, dinner parties, and maybe even a holiday party here and there. But things changed.

I had babies, and you moved far away. And once again, we found ourselves on different paths.

But I’m so happy you found true love while you were away. God always knew it would happen that way. Your childhood home, the place where we formed so many memories, was transformed into a beautiful gathering place to celebrate you and your love, for one night only. So we celebrated. There was a fire, and pickles, and all of our old teachers were there. We hugged, we chatted with old friends, and your dad’s toast brought tears to my eyes. Because yet another chapter was closing and another was beginning in this book called life, in this story called friendship.

My third baby was born in your birth month, and shortly after her birth, I found out your first baby was due in my birth month. When I contacted you and discovered you had made those same connections, something shifted inside of me, reminding me gently…time passes, kids grow up, distance sometimes separates more than we’d like, but memories can never be stolen.

We’ve been separated by distance for many years now. You know no details about my life, and I know no details about yours. But the special place you held, the special place you hold in my heart has not been abandoned.

I’ve looked for an adult friend who might fill your shoes. Someone I could laugh and be funny with, someone who’d drop by and go with me anywhere, anytime, someone who knew every detail of my life from the very start all the way through today, someone who’d invite me to every birthday party whether I fit with the rest of the group or not, someone who knew I was on a different path but loved me as “Ames” anyway.

But the truth is, I’ve never found that person, nor will I ever. Because the childhood friendship we had is irreplaceable. No one will fill your shoes like you did. It’s impossible. So I’ll accept our childhood friendship for what it was, for what it is, a gift, a beautiful chapter in the book of life.

Thank you for being the friend that was always there,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Tammy,

Good old dog.

You were the only dog I really ever knew, you were the only dog I really ever loved.

Every time we pulled up to grandma and grandpa’s white corner house with red trim, I knew you were just steps away. As I pulled open the rickety-kind-of door that always slammed shut behind me, there you were, eagerly waiting at my feet.

You followed me around the kitchen as I snacked on saltines topped with butter and cookies from the cookie jar. You lay in the corner of the kitchen by my feet as I dined on fried eggs and bacon, pickled pimiento loaf sandwiches, grandpa’s homemade vegetable beef soup, beef loin, and vanilla ice cream topped with cantaloupe.

I’ll never forget the click clack of your paws tracking across the plastic mat laid at the entrance to the living room. When I swiveled around in the chair on the other side of the kitchen sink, you sat by my feet. When a Christmas tree was there instead of the chair, it was all the same to you, you were still there. And when I ran my hands across the brown and white ridged wall that surrounded the fireplace, you were one step away, ready to play.

You were brown, you were fluffy, and let’s be honest, you always smelled a little. But I didn’t really care. Because I was a kid. I loved you for who you were – an irreplaceable part of the memorable experience known as grandma and grandpa’s house.

Thank you Tammy for being the dog I never had,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!

Dear Cyndy,

Words can’t express how grateful I am for your presence in my life. You’re my sister’s Godmother and I have a Godmother of my own, so let’s just call you my second mom and leave it at that!

Years before I was even a twinkle in my parents’ eyes, you were there. They knew you before they knew me.

When mom’s belly was growing round and she’d never done any of this before, you were there.

When I toddled on the lawn, you waited, ready to catch me if I fell and needed help getting back up again.

You were there when we lived in the blue house with the L-shaped wood fence at the end of the driveway. For birthday parties, weekend getaways, confirmations, and even a trip to Opryland! You were there for the parade as I marched down the street with my flute, pouring rain drenched right through that thin, white windbreaker with Amy embroidered on the front. You planned our itinerary for prom dress shopping, and got an insider’s view of the limo before we pulled out of the driveway. And my high school graduation party? I knew you wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

You hosted us kindly with sloppy joes, potato chips, carrots and dip, pickles, and rice krispie treats in Tupperware containers labeled just so with masking tape. And in the evenings, we all gathered on the couches downstairs, eating Baker’s Square French Silk pie or yummy homemade bars, watching a movie we’d chosen from the strip mall movie store that doesn’t exist anymore. Your family calendar was always a drawer pull away from the kitchen island – a whole host of events detailed in pencil, but there was always room for more of us.

When we moved to the gray-blue house with the white fences in front, you were there. When sister graduated and I graduated again, and just a month later, they dressed me in a toilet paper wedding dress at my shower, you were there. You joined me, mom, sister, and mother-in-law for wedding dress shopping, and when I walked down the aisle, you were invited to sit near the front, with family. You came as mom’s guest to my college friend’s wedding and watched as I walked down the aisle again, this time as bridesmaid.

When my belly was full and round, you came for the shower. You warmly welcomed baby #1 and #2 with hospital visits, and baby #3 was home visit worthy just days after birth.

When times were changing, you showed up and helped mom and dad move out of their gray-blue home into a house sufficient for retirement. We celebrated a birthday and honored friendship that lasts. When I called to report bad news not once, but twice (well…more likely three or four times), and when times got tougher yet, you showed up every single time. You surrendered your sanity one day, lassoed loose words and threw them back into the ocean of grace and forgiveness another day, and spent yet another day drying shed tears, packing boxes, and moving things from one place to another only to learn later it was all for naught.

When it could have been easier to bail, you didn’t. You came back for more, listening and understanding, loving and living this one wonderfully tough life – together. That is the mark of a true friend. That is the mark of a woman I’m proud to refer to as my second mother.

I’m not sure I could have gone through this life without you, and I’m so grateful you’ve been there through it all. Good times and bad.

Thank you for all that you’ve been, all that you are, and all that you will be,

Amy

*If you’d like to read more from my #31Days Letters to the Unthanked series, click here for the landing page where all the letters are listed and linked!