Wednesday Letters: The Chief (Mom)

Wednesdays are the days when I write a letter to someone in my life (past, present, or future) and tell them something. Hence the title, Wednesday Letters.

Dear Mom,

I hope that you had a good Mother's day. Of course you did—Dad took off leaving you to a quiet house. You could relax.

I want to take this opportunity to thank you, Mom, for everything. I guess I took for granted that not every kid's mom got up at 5:30 AM to make them breakfast or at least hot chocolate for those cooler-than-normal San Diegan mornings. Yeah, you were a special mom.

I still remember coming home from high school one day in frustration because the girls who I thought were my friends had spilled about the crush I had on a boy. And you said that maybe I shouldn't spend so much time talking to those girls, but that I could talk to you because you would keep my secrets. I know I still don't always tell you my secrets, but you're usually on the list to know about things happening. I'd rather tell you than anyone else. 

Your laugh is my favorite thing about you. Maybe because I have the same laugh. On Sunday, we laughed about the recent flirting business with a guy and you laughed right along with me as I recounted the stories. And then even while you laughed you gave the best advice: "Be patient and let him work up the courage." When I told you my reasons for questioning whether or not he was even a viable option, you listened, and agreed, and understood. 

Basically, you're my best friend. 

And so I just have to make this one request of you:

I need you to stay well until I get married. Maybe a little after.

Getting sick, going to the hospital—I don't know if I can handle it again. I'm sure you can't either. But I need you to keep hanging on for a bit longer. Cause I'm not ready to lose my best friend.

Love you!

Emery

Saturday Stories: Grandma's Love

Normally, I tell one of my stories.

But today, in honor of my grandma, I want to tell her love story.

She met a handsome young man when she was seventeen and had moved from her small town in Illinois to San Francisco. He worked with her brother. But he was rather conceited. He knew that he could any girl he wanted. And he wanted Jennie. 

But being the youngest, Jennie knew how to push back. He wasn't sure how much he liked that. He liked it enough to keep trying to win her over. 

Their relationship was perfect, except for their few spats. Her siblings liked him alright, but Chad was Mormon from Salt Lake City. And that could only lead to bad things. Jennie decided that she liked him. Who cares if he's a Mormon? He's a good man who works hard and is quite handsome. In those days, that was all that mattered (if only we could go back to those days).

And so it was that on Thanksgiving, Jennie and Chad found themselves obligated to attend three different dinners. 

In between one and two, they got into a fight.

Between two and three, they got engaged.

Chad yelled at Jennie, "If I bought you a ring, would you wear it?" While they drove to house number three.

Jennie yelled back, "If you bought me a damn ring, I'd wear it."

And so it was that their love story began. And lasted for years. 

I love that story.

Wednesday Letters: The Question Mark

Wednesdays are the days when I write a letter to someone in my life (past, present, or future) and tell them something. Hence the title, Wednesday Letters.

Dear Question Mark,

I think it's been seven years. Seven years since I wrote you and discovered you had gotten married. I say it as if it was a surprise. It shouldn't have been. You were funny and charming and so good. 

I enjoyed getting letters from you, for writing for two years. You made me laugh. I learned how to be a good pen pal. 

I'm sad that I still have this question mark. That you're the question mark. Maybe if I hadn't left when I did. Maybe... I could've waited. Six months? That would've been enough to see, decide, change my mind. 

Maybe is a powerful word. It does nothing except have this insane ability to make me stop and worry and wonder--and not in a positive, constructive type of way. It's a powerful and useless word. I try to forget that it's in my vocabulary. And maybe one day I'll forget you.

At the end of my life, it will have been just a blip on the spectrum. A small moment in the long timeline. But I'll be grateful for that blip. And for the moment, I think about that time and you, my question mark.