Dear Grandfather,
I’m not sure what to call you, because when you passed away, you were not yet a grandfather. You never had the opportunity to be called “Papa,” “Granddaddy,” or any other grandfatherly nickname. I never had the opportunity to call you these words because you died when my father was just 18 years old. Younger than I am now. And because of this, I have no idea of who you were as a person.
My dad doesn’t talk about you a lot, but I understand why. I’m too afraid to ask him about you because I don’t want to bring up painful memories. My mom never met you, so she can’t shine any light on who you were either. I wish I knew you, wish I could have gotten the chance to talk to you, just once.
I lost my mother’s father when I was just 5 years old, so I don’t remember him much either, other than that I called him Papa. Your wife, my loving grandmother, died when I was 8. I will always remember the smell of bacon in her house and the stuffed animal bunny rabbits she bought my siblings and me for Easter. At age 15, I became grandparent-less when my mother’s mom (my wonderful G-Ma) passed away. I’ll admit, I’m jealous of my friends who have had more time with their grandparents than I have.
I’ve seen about two pictures of you in my lifetime, at least that I can remember. One is a photo of you gardening, so from this, I infer that you loved to garden, which is something my dad loves to do to. You look a lot like each other in this photo. The other is on your wedding day, a photo I only found recently.
I know you were a veteran, something I also just found out about recently. You were a Marine in World War II. Besides this and the gardening, I don’t know much about you. But I know your son. And he is a good man, so I know that you must have been too.
I’ve been tracing my family’s lineage recently, in an attempt to know more about who we are. While it’s a comfort finally knowing exactly where in Norway my family can trace our roots back to, it still doesn’t tell me much about you. Now I know I could talk to my dad or his siblings about it, but I’m afraid. Sometimes it’s easier to live in fantasies, to imagine what you were like.
But even though I didn’t know you, I want to thank you. Thank you for the beautiful people that you helped bring in to this world. Thank you for influencing and providing for the young man who grew up to become my amazing father. Thank you for his siblings, who, even though I do not see them very often, I still hold very close to my heart, and hope to one day be reunited with. Thank you for the Sather name. I love being even a small part Norwegian, and I am so proud to hold the surname that I do. My older sister has already reserved your name, Sherwood, for the name of her first son. So even though we never knew you, we still know that we would have loved you.
I like to think that you’re up in heaven with your wife, and I’d also like to think that you and my mother’s parents smile down on us all the time, the home that you helped build, together.
May we meet one day in this place, far from now.
Love,
The granddaughter you never met
