Let me start by saying I am not currently, nor have I ever, been diagnosed as "mentally unstable", except once, by my momma, when I threatened to slash the tires of a sales lady for accosting me outside of a store that I will not name. I wouldn't have done it though, I'm all bark with little bite and a deep seeded fear of the PO-LICE. I have never wanted to visit their home, hence why this letter and not a pop up face-to-face introduction we're having now.
Growing up in small towns we tend to live in a bubble of security, a frame of mind that nothing too bad happens. Tragically though, the plagues that ravage big cities have now come to our slice of the world. My brother, succumbed to this fervent drug plague and lost his life at the age of 39. As you can imagine, grief became my companion that traveled with me every breathing moment that followed that news. It wasn't long after this that my daughter informed me I was to be a Grandmother! Can you guess my reaction? I was.....annoyed, irritated, and down right pissed off. That wasn't your guess, huh? I don't believe it would be most people's reaction or guess to mine either, but it was raw and real at the time. The daily struggle had became “trying” and I was exhausted. I had nothing inside of me to give myself let alone anyone else, including a tiny one that would deserve love and attention. I believe those that were around me daily kept waiting for me to obtain some glow about life for becoming this new version of a human being, a grandmother, and they were all sadly disappointed as I clung to my sadness. For if I wasn’t sad for a minute then guilt crept into my heart leaving the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve(s) all to race through my mind and pile up at my front door. Nothing anyone could say made me feel better, nothing I did seemed to take the sadness away. I found grief not to be just one emotion, but all of them in a glass jar and each day you shove your hand in there and pull out one just hoping that one won’t leave you crying, face down into the carpet that day.
One evening, during this past holiday season, while riding through town, I passed your home and looked over to see your big concrete porch decorated ever-so-perfectly. I can't remember now how exactly the greenery and lights were strung, but I do remember the feelings that overcame me and I began to cry like a baby. Now, here I am crying, staring at your porch remembering all of the Sundays sitting on my Grammy's big ole concrete porch. It may not have been decorated the way you had yours, I'm pretty sure the extent of her decorating that porch was an old metal glider, a few yard chairs, and whatever season/holiday clings were on her screen door at any given time, but nevertheless, I was overcome. I saw my Grammy, my brother, my children, my mother, my father, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, all sitting there spending time with each other, laughing, talking, and loving. The tears were streaming down like joyous memories of childhood flooding me. For so many months my tears were from a dark and painful place, but the effort and time you put into making your porch so inviting allowed light to fill my heart. Here is where I say thank you...thank you for unknowingly spreading the season's intentions of happiness and family to all those that pass by with burden's on their hearts. Thank you from the depths of my soul for those tears of healing that evening.
