Dear Grandma,
I remember the day, thirty years ago, you sat in our living room and waited with me for my date to arrive. It was a warm evening in June, a gentle breeze came in the window near your seat and rustled through your thin cotton dress. I was nervous about looking just right, you laughed and asked what a girl of fifteen would have to worry about. I couldn't decide if I should wear a skirt or go with slacks to hide my boney knees, but you said my knees were cute and I should be glad my legs weren't short and round like yours. I ran from room to room gathering my shoes and purse while you kept watch out the window. It was our first date so I told you what I knew about him. He took chemistry and Spanish, was a scuba instructor and a lifeguard, and had to borrow his parent's car because I wasn't allowed to ride on his motorcycle. When he pulled up you yelled "he's here!" with the excitement of a schoolgirl. We watched together as he climbed out of the Suburban, smoothed down his long sandy brown hair and walked up the front walk. You looked at me and said, "he's cute". I leaned in to give you a kiss on the the thin layer of skin that covered your fat cheek and smelled the faint smell of lilacs mixed with the hairspray that held your tightly permed hair. I said "thanks Grandma" feeling a little like staying home and climbing on your lap for the bedtime stories that my brothers would hear that night. But I went to the door and let my date in, he said his shy hellos and we left. I climbed up into the front of that truck and looked back to wave good-bye to you at your window seat. We drove away and he's been at my side ever since. I was glad, one year later, when he held my hand at your funeral, that he had been able to hear your laugh and see your sweet smile, and that you approved of him.
Love,
Peggy
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