Gram (age 107) and Me
I shouldn’t have been surprised, especially knowing they both grew up during the Depression, that my grandmother had saved letters my grandparents had written to each other during their early courting days. But I couldn’t believe the treasure I acquired when moving my gram from assisted living to her new nursing home after my grandfather’s death. I found a plain old suspenders box, stuffed with letters from the 1940s. The letters were in perfect condition, pages neatly folded, stamps readable and postmarked with dates. It didn’t look like she had ever reread them after receiving them; they were so impeccable. My breath caught as I saw the familiar slant of my grandfather’s penmanship and my grandmother’s curvy cursive. They were laid out to me, like a gift, but I had no idea what to do with them. I stayed up all night reading them and putting them in chronological order.
Around the same time I found my grandparents letters, I found a box of love letters I had written to my first girlfriend. We were together for three and half years in high school and college and were engaged to be married before it was even legal for gay people to do so. The difference between the discoveries was striking. My grandparents’ letters were sent back and forth by the postal service while they were distanced from each other due to school and work, while my letters were slipped into bookbags and hands in between classes, or under bedroom doors, secretly.