A letter to ...FamilyThe letter you always wanted to writeIt's nearly three years since I heard your voice on the telephone, nearly two years since I heard your voice from the other side of your front door. A small, frightened whisper, which, though I knew it to be in your voice, didn't seem like you at all. I sat for nearly three hours in the rain on your doorstep, hoping we could talk, if only through the door; I hoped you would come to the station to find me before I went back. Through that door, I also heard the grandson I have never met. I came to know he existed because a dear friend, talking to a mutual acquaintance, found out they had been sent a Christmas card two years ago, with a photograph of my grandson in it – a beautiful baby boy.
It was a shock to find out, through her, that I am a grandmother, and even more of a shock when I looked at the photo of that beautiful child, to see what a strong resemblance he bears to my father, who died when I was seven. You see, you might want to deny your heritage, but you never can. Such things are always within us. You will notice all these little signs so deeply embedded within us in the years to come.
I felt you slipping away, something I could never quite put my finger on. It was something I was also powerless to prevent. You were an "adult" … legally. When you truly love somebody, you have to release them to do what they will, even when you instinctively know that they are harming themselves by what they are doing.
What I cannot understand is how two people who were always so close could so suddenly be so far apart in every way. I travelled a long way to see you, to hold you and to tell you that I love you and always will; to meet my grandson; to share a little of your joy in welcoming your son into the world. I have often told you that when you were small, it was the happiest time of my life. How exciting, how privileged to share those moments of growing in every way; how exciting to be there at your discoveries, your proud achievements. It's what you're experiencing yourself as a mum, I hope – such sublime joy.
You have never replied to my letters, cards, emails, calls or texts, which we always used to share so happily. Finally, you apparently got your husband to contact me 18 months ago, forbidding any further contact of any kind. It's a request I have honoured, in no small pain and confusion. Until that terrible point, there was nothing but a wall of silence for two and a half years, after quite "normal" constant contact at a very meaningful level.
Apparently you feel there is no need to explain or justify your actions … not to me, perhaps, but there may well be another who might feel differently in the future. It often seems to me that, in your pride, instilled and nurtured in you by whatever "therapy" you have been engaged in, you would rather feel "right" and suffer than "wrong" and happy, if such draconian definitions even exist. What a waste of everyone's life.
There is always hope. That is one certainty I continue to live in. I am not perfect; there's no such thing as a normal family. We do our best in whatever circumstances we find ourselves. Your generation can never truly understand how utterly different the dynamics of marriage were in those days – how could you? We are all children of our time, whether we like it or not.
Whatever else changes, real love does not … I will see you! Anonymous
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