Letters for Mary

How can you miss someone you've never actually met? Sure, you can imagine and fantasize about what the person could have been like, but what if you knew exactly how they were?
My grandmother was a fantastic woman. She was just like me, or at least, I'd like to think she was. She was creative and athletic and smart; all things that I wanted to be; all this I became in time. My grandmother, Mary, was my hero. I didn't know how she handled having a husband and three boys, and still stayed sane. The answers to all of my questions could be found after asking questions, but time had other plans. My grandmother passed away a month before my twelfth birthday, not that we weren't expecting that by then. Her health had been declining greatly over the years, but that never made me love her less. In all honesty, it made me value every minute with her even more. My mother always said, "Cherish who you've got while they're here". I never truly understood that until April 10th, 2008, when I realized that the one person on this planet that was like me had left for good.



"Crying won't bring her back, Melissa!" Mother yelled. I lay with my face buried deep into the tear and mascara stained pillow, soaked with about ten minutes worth of sobbing. Mother hated crying, especially when the tears were my own. Usually I was incredibly strong-willed. Today was different.
"God damn it, mother. I miss her!" I squealed in my strained voice.
"I know you do too, please don't say otherwise. "
Mother was a bit startled by this.
"Melissa, you need to calm down. We all miss Mary. I do, you do, your grandfather does, and I'm sure your father does too, wherever he is. You know he wouldn't stand for this pointless bawling. "
As she trailed off on her never ending rant my mind floated back to my grandmother's old home on the lake. I viewed the myriad of embroidery upon the wall, all hand stitched by her, of course. She was telling me the stories behind all of them.
"This was my kitten, Erma. She was the most beautiful little white cat. I brushed her till she shined. You know how long that took with such an impatient lil ball of energy? Way too long, but I did it anyway. It's worth it when you love someone that much. "
I was just a child when she told me this, so naturally, I giggled.
"Grandma, Erma is a funny name for a cat!"
"Why do you say that." Grandmother asked.
"I don't know...it sounds like she was already old when you named her! Erma is an old name. Like...like...Eugene! Or Henry. Or PRUDENCE!" I yelled in my shrill seven year-old voice.
This made grandmother laugh her deep and hearty laugh I would soon adopt.



-



Dear Mary,
Today I am seventeen, two months, and nine days old. And I miss you. I miss having someone to be able to truly, honestly talk to. I have a terrible habit of losing those that i let get close to me. It's as if they run, and I accept that it is fate. The one time I ran after someone, I left my mind with them after I ran back. It was a boy. And I cannot lie to you, dearest grandmother, part of me is still gone after that. It's as if I ran a marathon I still have not recovered from. Perhaps I was not strong enough. Maybe I'm still not, because I find myself becoming curious with "what ifs" and maybes and questions. I cannot tell if I have feelings, for those have been astonishingly numbed. I can't tell you the last time I've felt things for another person. It's as if I've been indifferent since feelings of my own were shoved down as far as they were. I do not remember the last time I thought for myself. About what I was feeling, why I was feeling, for whom I was feeling, etc.

Have you ever felt so alone within yourself?

I love you forever,
Your granddaughter, Melissa



-


A few days go by, and I am myself again. I can think, I can breathe, I can be happy. I can enjoy myself with my friends. I am no longer alone, and as rip the feeling is still fresh in my mind, I let no one experience what I just have gone through. I despise mood changes, I despise them completely. Unfortunately, as I arrived at my social hub for the evening, a bonfire, I would experience more mood swings.



-



Mid-August of year seventeen.

Dear Mary,
The one day I decide to be social. The one day. I feel like s**t and I can't stand up to people because I'm too nice, and I'm just sitting here and sucking it up and feeling sorry for myself because I don't know if I should leave or stay and let the smoke blow into my face(literally and figuratively). I find so much irony in the fact that I wish to just ask seemingly simple questions, yet I cannot. He is here. He is mean, grandmother, He is so incredibly mean. Why do I listen? Why do I care even in the slightest bit about what this boor thinks or how He sees me? These are questions I cannot answer: questions I wish I could ask you.
Grandma, I miss you.
Love, Melissa


-



As summer started to end, the thoughts began.
Who will I miss once I'm gone?
Will anyone miss me?
I wonder if I'll ever bring myself to talk to people
Maybe I'll join every club?
What have I done all summer..
I forgot to visit grandmothers grave....after I promised her I would....s**t.
I literally have three friends
...s**t.
What are my college plans? An Ivy League school for free, or an expensive private school that I love?
I've brought up most of these thoughts to mother, but they were all promptly dismissed.
"You're too young to be worrying so much, Sweetie. You already have wrinkles. Shut up, stop blubbering, and you'll feel better. "
Of course, this never made me feel better, so as always, I'd take it upon myself to search for answers that would never come. I would do this by writing a letter to Mary.



Dearest Mary,

I'm confused today, grandmother. Everyone tells me something different. Everyone tells me that they are correct. Everyone is full of s**t.

I am frustrated today, grandma.

That is all.

Oh and, Please pardon my french.

I love you.
-Melissa.



-



If grandmother was here, I would be crying into her shoulder. I would've driven to her home and just walked in and cried and she would understand. That, or she would pretend to. I would tell her what he said. I would tell her what I said and I would tell her the miscommunication of the day. "He doesn't trust me anymore, grandmother, and I won't trust him so much. " I would say.
"Silly little girl."