I found a box of old letters that my mother had saved. I was reading through them and came across one I remembered too well. It was the letter that my Granny wrote to my Mom telling of the death of my godmother, a very dear family friend. I remember exactly where my Mom was sitting and what she was wearing and how scared I was by her reaction to this letter. We were living in Australia in a remote and tiny town without radio or telephone contact. It is hard to imagine such a place still exits, no computers, or email or faxes.
We got our news from the US Navy base via the teletype and from letters that arrived once a week. Every week there were one or two letters from the states, my Dad would bring them home from the base mail call. Mom would take them to the end of the kitchen table and read them where the light was good. They were always written in tiny script on the thinnest airmail paper available. We all new that "Granny Carm" had been sick, she had leukemia and the treatments in the mid 1970's were brutal. Her letters were short but my Mom cherished them, there was always a paragraph for me too. I am sure my Mom knew the moment she opened my Granny's letter.
"Dear People," it reads. "I'm sorry that I haven't written sooner this week but this is the letter I have been dreading and I couldn't make myself do it sooner. Carmel passed away Monday morning." The letter goes on to tell the details of her death and the Rosary and funeral that followed. My Mom did not get beyond that sentence in the first reading. She dropped the letter and howled, and I ran, ran down the block to get the neighbor who had become our friend, farther to the local pup to retrieve my Dad. I was afraid to go home. In all the difficulties in our house, with all the drinking and the problems and the stress and the tears my eight year old self had never seen my Mom unable to say what she meant, unable to speak or ask for help. Simply consumed by grief. It was the first time I understood that when people die, other people hurt. At the time that was all I knew about "Granny Carm's" death, it made my Mom sad. Next to my Mom and my Granny, "Granny Carm" as she was called was the light of my childhood. The perfect godparent arriving with the just the right extravagant gift, taking me "shopping" to fancy stores my mother never would have allowed, ice cream for breakfast, pie for lunch, and she was beautiful in glamorous sort of way that I associated with movie stars.
I was named after "Granny Carm's" first daughter Carmen, she had another daughter they called "little Carmel". "Granny Carm" and I used to visit the first Carmen's grave and I was always struck by how weird it was to see my name on the headstone, but never gave much thought to how it must be for her mother to see her daughters name there and to see me, her namesake, still living. I cannot even imagine it now. I always wanted to know about her and asked lots of questions but got few answers. The first Carmen died when she was just four years old. Seeing my Mom's reaction the the letter made me think about how it must have been for my beloved, glamorous godmother to endure my never ending questions about her little girl. I think it might have been the first time I really thought about the world as something other than my own personal universe.
Sitting at my own kitchen table last night, reading this letter for the first time; With my own children sleeping in their beds I realized the last few years have left me little time to think of the world as anything but my own personal universe. I guess that is how mothers manage to lose themselves over time. I will try and not let that happen to me. Farther on in the letter my grandmother talks about "Granny Carm's" troubled marriage, her horrifying last few days and the flower tribute that my Granny took to the funeral, two baskets of early spring flowers from the family and a special tribute from me. "A small white satin heart with apricot tea roses and baby's breath and was pinned to the inside of the casket. The card read "To My Granny Carm from your Carmen".
My Mom, of course had many, many other letters with sad news, and happy news but none that I remember so clearly. I wonder how she felt about the distance, about not knowing until it was all over. If she wanted to call my Granny? Or if she welcomed the distance and the time to get her own thoughts together. Would her reaction have been different today? Able to speak with her own mother? and possibly even a goodbye phone call from "Granny Carm"
We are lucky I think, but also cursed. We are not as able to take the time to sort out what we will say, the pressure to communicate what we know as soon as we know it is intense; and the failure to do so almost unforgivable.
We got our news from the US Navy base via the teletype and from letters that arrived once a week. Every week there were one or two letters from the states, my Dad would bring them home from the base mail call. Mom would take them to the end of the kitchen table and read them where the light was good. They were always written in tiny script on the thinnest airmail paper available. We all new that "Granny Carm" had been sick, she had leukemia and the treatments in the mid 1970's were brutal. Her letters were short but my Mom cherished them, there was always a paragraph for me too. I am sure my Mom knew the moment she opened my Granny's letter.
"Dear People," it reads. "I'm sorry that I haven't written sooner this week but this is the letter I have been dreading and I couldn't make myself do it sooner. Carmel passed away Monday morning." The letter goes on to tell the details of her death and the Rosary and funeral that followed. My Mom did not get beyond that sentence in the first reading. She dropped the letter and howled, and I ran, ran down the block to get the neighbor who had become our friend, farther to the local pup to retrieve my Dad. I was afraid to go home. In all the difficulties in our house, with all the drinking and the problems and the stress and the tears my eight year old self had never seen my Mom unable to say what she meant, unable to speak or ask for help. Simply consumed by grief. It was the first time I understood that when people die, other people hurt. At the time that was all I knew about "Granny Carm's" death, it made my Mom sad. Next to my Mom and my Granny, "Granny Carm" as she was called was the light of my childhood. The perfect godparent arriving with the just the right extravagant gift, taking me "shopping" to fancy stores my mother never would have allowed, ice cream for breakfast, pie for lunch, and she was beautiful in glamorous sort of way that I associated with movie stars.
I was named after "Granny Carm's" first daughter Carmen, she had another daughter they called "little Carmel". "Granny Carm" and I used to visit the first Carmen's grave and I was always struck by how weird it was to see my name on the headstone, but never gave much thought to how it must be for her mother to see her daughters name there and to see me, her namesake, still living. I cannot even imagine it now. I always wanted to know about her and asked lots of questions but got few answers. The first Carmen died when she was just four years old. Seeing my Mom's reaction the the letter made me think about how it must have been for my beloved, glamorous godmother to endure my never ending questions about her little girl. I think it might have been the first time I really thought about the world as something other than my own personal universe.
Sitting at my own kitchen table last night, reading this letter for the first time; With my own children sleeping in their beds I realized the last few years have left me little time to think of the world as anything but my own personal universe. I guess that is how mothers manage to lose themselves over time. I will try and not let that happen to me. Farther on in the letter my grandmother talks about "Granny Carm's" troubled marriage, her horrifying last few days and the flower tribute that my Granny took to the funeral, two baskets of early spring flowers from the family and a special tribute from me. "A small white satin heart with apricot tea roses and baby's breath and was pinned to the inside of the casket. The card read "To My Granny Carm from your Carmen".
My Mom, of course had many, many other letters with sad news, and happy news but none that I remember so clearly. I wonder how she felt about the distance, about not knowing until it was all over. If she wanted to call my Granny? Or if she welcomed the distance and the time to get her own thoughts together. Would her reaction have been different today? Able to speak with her own mother? and possibly even a goodbye phone call from "Granny Carm"
We are lucky I think, but also cursed. We are not as able to take the time to sort out what we will say, the pressure to communicate what we know as soon as we know it is intense; and the failure to do so almost unforgivable.
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Granny Carm, Papa Jack and Carmen (me)1967.
3 comments:
Wow. What a powerful post. I'm so sorry for your Grammy Carm's passing. It's incredible the things that we remember and all the feelings, sights, sounds, smells etc. that go along with them. Hugs to you.
What a touching memory...thank you for sharing it.
Sarah :)
Thank you so much for sharing your precious memories Carmen. You have the most beautiful way with words.
Hugs
- Janine
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