How many of you know your grandparents? I mean, really know their stories? Their favorite childhood friend, how they met their spouse, the hardships they endured in their marriages, the passions they pursued, the loves they left behind, the joys that comprised their lives?
I don’t know my grandmother beyond the surface. She collects owl and cardinal knick-knacks. Her eyesight is fading. She enjoys making hooked rugs and solving word puzzles. She sleeps beneath a golden crucifix.
I know she married a man 10 years her senior at just 17 years old and had two children before she turned 20. I know she was a young girl during the Depression. I know her brother lived with her almost his entire life. I know she watched her husband die of Lou Gehrig’s disease. But I don’t know any of the stories associated with these things. I know one sentence each, and I’ve told you all I know.
I’m eager for more about her life. I want to understand what she went through to ensure I could have the happy, secure life I have today. She is a part of me, but it is all mystery.
As I fell asleep last night, I thought about this blog and how it may remain online for many years into the future. Ten, twenty, maybe even 100 years or more. Then there’s my Shutterfly albums. And YouTube. A permanent record of my life in words, photographs and movies exists out there. Future archeologists need no shovels.
So if you are my grandchild reading this after I have passed, I don’t know you, but I love you. I would like to tell you all my stories. Please sit in a comfortable chair and read about how I wanted to be an author. I hope I inspire you.
Tell me, was I successful? Do you have my books at your bedside?
Please don’t forget to comment. Who knows, maybe in 100 years they’ll figure out a way for me to read it. I’m sure the spammers will lead the way with that technology.