To You, From Me #4

To You, 

Last night, mom went to bed crying. I didn’t ask why, but when she started showing me your pictures, everything clicked. Today is the anniversary of what happened. 

I should’ve known, I should’ve realized that mom does the same thing every year— she marathons Cold Case Files, she flips through old photos of you, and she cries herself to sleep. I know it’s a little ritual for her to remember you by, but each year it aches me to see her hurt this way. I know she’s not the only one hurting like this, and that makes it even worse. Today is 20 years since the day he killed you.

I hate those words.

I’m writing you this letter because I’m old enough now to really grasp what the situation was surrounding your death. None of us got to say goodbye to you, and I’m also old enough now to be angry about it. You were my mom’s Mom. What I have with her, she had with you. I see that now, and I’m so sorry he took these experiences away from you and your daughters.

Anyways, the matter of experiences is really why I’m writing this letter to you. There’s so many things I wish I got to do with you. Some of my friends grew up with their maternal grandmothers, and I just never understood what I was missing until now.

I wish you got to see me grow up. You would’ve sat with us for breakfast in the morning while Nana made boats out of his newspapers. I bet you would’ve laughed like he did when my four year old self tried to make them float in the bathtub. You would’ve been there for all of it— my high school graduation, my college graduation, even that half marathon from June. I wonder what you would’ve thought of all the crazy things I do. Mom told me that her favorite thing about you was how you’d defend her independence. I want to pretend that you’d be like that for me too.

What hurts the most, to me at least, is that you never got to meet the rest of your grandkids. That monster did this to you while you were praying for one of us. He stole you from our childhoods. 

In a perfect world, I’d have a memory of being 8 years old and going over to your house— drinking your homemade passion fruit juice that mom loved, and watching you cook dinner for one of your famous family gatherings. I heard you had the best cooking, I heard you were a great hostess too.

In fact, all the things I’ve heard about you— your amazing cooking, your ability to decorate, host gatherings, and love your children with all of your everything— I see in your kids. There are reflections of you in each of your daughters, and even though you aren’t here to see it, and I wasn’t with you long enough to know— I can feel your love radiating from each of them. I feel like I know you through them.

You were an unnecessary sacrifice that the universe took from us, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive it. I know I’ll never be able to forgive him. That monster knew you had a family who loved you, he’d seen that love with his own eyes. He knew that about all of his victims. He knew every part of what he was doing, and he got away with all of it. He’s why mom can’t stop watching Cold Cases, and why she raised me on True Crime. She wishes that yours was a case the police would solve someday, like they do in the shows. I wish you got the justice you deserved.

This year, mom’s the age that you were when he took you from us. That terrifies me, because I don’t know what I’d do without her, and I definitely don’t know how she got through anything without you. I don’t know how any of us did.

Anyways, if any of the letters I’ve written could ever be read by the people I intended them for, I’d want you to read this one the most. I want you to know how loved you were, how missed you are, and how much I wish I knew you. You died praying for for your family, for my sister to survive her Leukemia—and I wish you could see how your prayers were answered. I wish you could’ve met all the grandchildren you’d have after her.

Mom used to tell me that you had a star in the sky next to her brother, and when Nana died, his star went up right next to both of yours. I was a kid when I first believed it, but I believe it even now. Wherever you are, I know it’s good. I know you never stopped shining.

Thank you. For everything— for everyone. 

I love you.

From, 

Me.  

_______

To anyone reading this—

If you feel inclined, or if you feel at all connected to what happened, please donate your time to any of the below resources:
projectcoldcase.org , an organization dedicated to working on finding justice for unsolved homicide cases
themurdersquad.com a podcast that helps crowdsource the solving of various unsolved homicide cases on an episode-by-episode basis.If you know of any other similar organizations or efforts, please message me, and I'll add them in.