Memory is a funny thing. It seems to come in snapshots of occasions or snippets of conversations. Then in time, the day to day love and warmth become the impressions and the greying film of nostalgia.
The letters brought me laughter and wonder, the wonder of my gram's beautiful handwriting, and laughter at her quick wit, no nonsense conversation, love of a new recipe stemming from fresh produce purchased at Plowboys or recollecting a conversation with my mom. I am blessed to still have my gram, and though she is clouded by dementia, I still get to see glimpses of the light that touched the letters so lovingly written so many years ago.
They brought immediate tears upon seeing my grandpa's deliberate handwriting. Brightened my mind in hearing again his gruff and loving tone and being able to once again picture him with me. Counting in Latin, playing cards, singing Irish blarney, and sharing with me life lessons: the importance of respect, debate, education and most of all family. My last conversation with him reflected his approval of my husband to be, saying: "he's a good man."