This weekend I did some much needed cleaning and organization around my place. While going through some old cards and letters I ran across this:
My dearest granddaughter,
This thought came to my mind while eating breakfast – Someday he’ll come along the man I love, and he’ll be big and strong, the man I love, someday. I love you, like I love all my grandchildren, so together we will keep praying that the man you love will come along.
My Grams wrote me this letter a few years ago when she was in her late 80s. Her caretaker told me she actually stopped eating breakfast to pen me this note, so concerned was she for my marital status.
When I was in my late 20s, my Grams suddenly became desperately concerned that I would die alone. She didn’t think this about any of her other seven grandchildren, one of which was several years older than I (and therefore the most likely target for spinsterhood), but she did think it was a very serious condition I was suffering from. Unprompted, she would often console me for my single status, reassuring me that he was still out there while singing old English love ballads.
I think regrets are a colossal waste of time, but if I do find a soul mate one day some part of me will regret that I was never able to introduce him to my Grams. She was fortunate to attend two of her grandchildren’s weddings and see three great-grandbabies born before she passed, but I would have liked to have relieved this one of her well-intentioned, albeit way off base worries.
Grams was a stubborn broad, though, so I take comfort in her likely having had something to do with it. Up there in heaven she can probably pick out the exact English gentleman of her choosing.