Write Yourself a Letter with the Wisdom of 100 Years

Charleene never wanted my parents to have a child, but when they took her to a showing ofThree Men and a Baby she seemed pleased to know I was on the way.

I “came to my senses” riding a Shetland pony. It was tied to a small horse walker in the local skagg’s parking lot. My father stood next to the other parents and took a photograph. Just a few days ago, my mother left the apartment for Virginia.

My father drove me to my grandmother’s house, which was right around the corner. She had all of my toys in a closet and spent time answering the questions I had. Since this was my first memory and the first sliver of consciousness, I had many questions.

I remember my father cried in his room. When I tried to go to him he yelled and my grandmother took me away.

In my dreams, I remembered my mother. I had no word for her, because she wasn’t around. Confused, I called Charleene and my father mama.

It’s odd that my first memory is of riding the shetland pony and that I only remembered my mother through dreams. But it’s possible I had a previous awareness that I blocked out when she left because it was painful.

Charleene loved me. When she died I was inconsolable. The day my father and I moved out of her house for good, I remember her roses were still blooming in the middle of winter. A deep snow covered the ground and I circled beneath the trees that were planted at my birth.

Today, when I level with myself, I think of Charleene. I wonder what that old, busy woman would say to me now. She put a hand on my shoulder as I walked and brushed my hair to one side, always concerned over some minor detail. Drove into corn fields and laughed happily. Spit out the car door. Affectionately called me “a basket case.” Mowed the lawn at 72.

In my desk drawer rest her large spectacles and driver’s license. Sometimes I put them on and pretend to be old and fussy like her, to know as she did that nothing ever truly leaves us.

Not every day, but often I hear Bye Bye Blackbird in the back of my mind. I sing it as my grandmother did to me.

Pack up all my care and woe, here I go, singing low bye bye blacbird