G is for Grandparents
The moment I saw those words, my heart began pounding and I could feel myself collapsing under my own weight. I grabbed onto the arm of Charlie’s old recliner and lowered myself into the seat. After all the years of waiting, there was no time to cry, so I continued reading even though it was through a waterfall of tears. ‘Recently, I came across some information which leads me to believe that Elizabeth Caruthers, my birth mother, was your daughter. My mother passed away in 1986, and her maiden name was McDermott. Other than this, I have very few details. I’m contacting you in the hope of finding my grandparents. I am anxious to learn more about my mother’s life and the mystery surrounding her death. If we are in fact related, would you be willing to meet with me?’
With my fingers locked onto that letter, I closed my eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.” I had long ago given up praying for such a thing to happen. I’d allowed myself to settle into believing it simply wasn’t part of God’s plan for my life. Now, here it was— the miracle I’d been asking for.
‘My name is Christian Caruthers,’ the letter went on, ‘I live in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. My older brother David is married and we have a sister named Kimberly…’
He asked if I would be willing to see him! Imagine that, willing to see him? Why, for the past twenty years, I’ve wanted nothing more. There were days, weeks, months on end, when I’d do nothing but wonder what he’d grown to look like. Two decades back, I spied a blue-eyed child at a playground in Westfield and convinced myself he was my Christian. I rushed over and asked the boy his name, but even before he spoke I could tell by the turn of his nose what the answer would be. Willing to see him? Why, I’d go to my grave a happy woman if I could have the chance to hug those children to my chest and tell them how much I love them.
Without a minute’s hesitation, I sat down at Charlie’s old desk and scratched out an answer to the boy’s letter. ‘Elizabeth most certainly was my daughter,’ I wrote, ‘and I was right there alongside of her the day she gave birth to you.’ I went on to say nothing in the entire world would give me greater pleasure than a visit from him, David and Kimberly. I wanted to say Kimmie, which was what her mother called her, but, since Christian had referred to her as Kimberly, I was reluctant to say anything that might change his mind about coming for a visit. I signed the letter ‘Your Loving Grandma, Claire McDermott.’ I wrote my telephone number big and bold, the way people are inclined to do as they get on in years. Once that letter disappeared into the mailbox, I began waiting.