I was miserable and angry, so one day during my stay at Oma and Ota's, I wrote a letter to my cousin describing my misery. In it I referenced our grandmother as being a bitch. I tucked the letter in a dresser in my cousin's room for her to find the next weekend she'd visit her dad.
A day or so later, my uncle asked me to come down into my cousin's bedroom where he confronted me about the letter.
He was so very upset with me, I thought he might cry. I was so shocked he found the letter, I didn't really know what to say. All I knew was that I didn't mean the words as they were taken.
"Please don't tell Oma I said that," I remember begging.
He assured me he would never say such horrible words to her and I breathed a sigh a relief, but he also assured me that he was horribly upset with what I had done. He made me promise to never even think such awful things about Oma again. And I promised. I cried and I promised because the truth of the matter is that Oma always was and always will be the most important woman in my life.
She means so much to me, I can't even clearly express it. So the fact that I know I wrote those words of my own fruition, and that her beloved son read them and interpreted them in the worst way possible, slices my heart. Even at almost 10. And it still does today.
|photo unknowingly snapped from my cell phone on 11/24/12|
I have a shitty memory but that's one moment I will never forget. And every single time I see my grandmother and hug her frail body, I think of the damn letter and the awful words I wrote and thank God she never found the letter that my uncle destroyed before she could see it. If she ever, even for one moment, thought I disrespected her in such a way, I'd be mortified.
She's my Oma and I love her more than words could ever say.