Dear Nanna,
Gosh I miss you. I feel saddened to think of all the things you missed out on while we were growing up. You had such a soft face and from what I remember you were so caring. Taking us on trips to the park and the beach. We used to think you and Pa were millionaires because you lived on the Gold Coast. Our yearly trip down to visit was such a highlight.
You have raised two amazing boys who are now grown men. You would be so proud of Dad. He is a fantastic family man. Always there for his family no matter the situation. He and his brother are closer now than they ever were. Even if they do live at opposite ends of the country.
Then there is your adopted daughter. She is a wonderful, fearless red headed warrior. She has climbed Kilimanjaro and is off to Machu Picchu...
Family
Dear Nana and Pop-Pop,
I have been struggling to find the perfect words to describe the amount of gratitude I have for the both of you, but honestly, no words will ever accurately describe this feeling. However, I want to try.
Thank you for raising my father to be such an incredible person. The lessons he has instilled in me since birth, the words of encouragement he has shouted from the stands during my field hockey games, and the way he has always praised my hard work are all things came about because of his upbringing. I wouldn’t be who I am today without him.
Thank you for always loving me no matter what. I know I have made mistakes in my life, but your love has never wavered. At times, you were like my parents and angry for things I did, but moments later, you would be my...
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Dear Parents!
We know what you want for your child. We know that you want them to be as happy and successful as they can be and carve their own niche in this world. We know that you want them to stay protected and safe in this horrible horrible world. We know that you want just the best things to happen for them. We know you do.
But....
Whenever you choose to tell them that they can't become something just because they chose a different stream, or because you think that they would land up in a not-so-lucrative job, or that they need to fulfil your childhood dreams which you couldn't fulfil; you're plunging them deeper into the abyss of stereotyping.
We know that all you can see around the world are people who have become successful in a conventional way. They have Government...
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“A 12-YEAR-OLD girl has died in a swimming accident on a school trip to France.”
My heart thuds hard. Where are my children? Who has my children?
In the next beat, pounding harder, I place them: Safe, finishing off our family holiday in the sunshine with their daddy, not too far away.
I call to hear their happy voices. They have been for a long walk, had hot dogs and are now doing some colouring in.
So you see, silly. It’s fine. They are fine. You can stop sweating, everything is OK.
Except it’s not. One family has lost their little girl, Jessica. Already in France, they are bereft, looking for answers to an impossible question: Why did our little girl die?
Distraught, they will stare at the pontoon she was standing on in the lake. They will see her — can you hear her...
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Dear Babies,
I don't know how to start this letter to you. I don't want to be ashamed of you, because I know I would have loved you if you were here. I am ashamed though, and being ashamed makes me feel even worse. I have to tell you how I feel, and hope that these words can reach someone else before she makes the worst decision of her life.
I don't know you, little ones. I never will. I don't know you because I ended our relationship before it began. I killed you, and I can't live with the guilt anymore.
I was stupid, young, and selfish. I tried to make a man happy that couldn't live with the responsibility of you. So I went alone, and told myself that it was for the best. I refused to listen to your heartbeat. I refused to see your body and your face on an ultrasound. I refused...
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Dear Ms. Cramblett,
By now, you know thousands of people have heard your story about being impregnated by a donor you didn’t request. You specifically wanted a blonde hair, blue-eyed white donor who resembles your partner, but instead were given an African-American one. As a result, you now obviously have a biracial child.
I want to begin by saying I understand you had a preference and you have a right to be upset that it wasn’t met. The bank was negligent and they should acknowledge their mistake and pay for it. Just as you wanted a child who resembles you and your partner, so do I want a black child that resembles me. But what I don’t seem to understand is your handling of the situation and the claims that this is an emotional and painful experience for you to go through....
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Dear Son,
You are loved. You are worthy.
If there are only two things I want you to always remember, these are it. As I type this letter you are sitting in your room playing with your little wood car.
That's your favorite car. And ironically it is the only toy your father ever bought you. He bought it in your birth town in Brazil, two weeks before you were born.
We left the beach and he saw it in a little local store. He picked up for you because it was handmade. During that moment I actually thought the three of us was going to be a family.
Unfortunately things did not happened the way I dreamed it would, and this week, while watching Calliou calling his father, you asked where your own father was for the first time. I don't think you understood what your question meant...
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Hey Kids,
Feel free to leave your stuff wherever you want this summer. Half-finished smoothies in the family room? No problem. I got it. Socks in the hall. I'm on it. Dishes in the sink? Keep 'em coming. Legos? Everywhere? Love it. Oh, and feel free to drag your blankets all over the house and abandon them the moment you no longer want them. I'll fold them lovingly for you and return them to your rooms.
And doors? Shutting them is optional. I'm right behind you, so, seriously, don't worry about it. I love when the wasps get in and the air conditioning gets out. Who are we to be sequestered in our climate-controlled house? Open door policy in this house. We have endless money.
And it's totally fine to leave your wet bathing suits and towels on any surface, from the floor to the...
2,158
Dear Mom,
It has been way too long since I have taken time to sit down to write you a letter. I'm actually not sure I have ever written you a letter. And I am 100% sure you have never been the subject of my blog. Sure, we chat when we are together and we have pleasant phone calls discussing this and that, but often that is surface stuff. Nothing wrong with surface stuff, I'm engaged, you're engaged, we laugh, I cry (I am working on toughening up a bit), it's all good. We are great at surface stuff like what's going on with the kids, what trips we have planned and what crazy stuff is happening in the world (You might recall, you have to remind me what's going on in the world since I closed my life to newspapers, radio and television years ago. Thank you for the updates).
People that...
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Nana, I'm sad.
I'm sad because you'll never meet your great grandchildren. I'm sad because I took you for granted. I'm sad because I never got to say goodbye.
But I'm happy too that you were always there for me. I'll never forget the adventures and experiences you gave to all of the grandchildren.
I'm happy because I got to know you the longest, and I'm happy that you never ever let me be 'too old' for all the fun stuff.
I'll remember every single pantomime you took me to. I'll remember each story you read me.
I'll try to remember the recipes, although we both know I'll probably give up and Google it. I'll be frustrated when it doesn't taste the same.
I'm sad no one knows your recipie for gravy.
I'm sorry I threw up in your car that one time. And that other time. And...
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