Grandmothers are often underappreciated, especially if they live great distances from their grandkids.

I was looking through some old letters that my mother had saved from my childhood and came across a treasure trove of cards and letters from my grandmother in Bermuda. Many of them came on birthdays and holidays such as Easter and Christmas—she never missed any of them—not one. And every one of the birthday cards carried a crisp new five-dollar bill. She must have gone broke trying to enrich her dozens of grandchildren!

One of the letters I found was from my teenage years when I was a lost soul searching for purpose and meaning in what I thought was an unfair life. I must admit, trouble was my shadow in those days. I now wish that I had more fully appreciated and responded to those many letters of moral support from afar. The following is her letter and my response today, some sixty years too late.


Spanish Point, Bermuda
December 9th, 1966

Darling Dan,

What must you be thinking of your old Gramma, not writing to you once since you went over there? It is not that I don't think of you dear; you are never far from my thoughts and still a VERY SPECIAL person to me. Both Grampa and I are very proud to feel that we have some of America's very bravest boys. I pray for you each night; part of it being that you will also find comfort in times of stress, in saying a prayer.

Your dear, faithful mom keeps us posted on how you are, and we had a letter earlier this week from her. I asked her if she thought you would wear a St. Christifer Medal if I sent it, but she wasn't sure that you would; so, I am sending you the little Xmas gift we always send each year, and if you would and could buy one at your PX, we'd be very happy. St. Christofer has always been known for keeping those in danger free from harm. That is how I'd like to feel you were, and what I pray for, "That you'll be kept from all harm".

We shall be thinking of you over Christmas, more than ever dear Dan, and hope that you will not feel too unhappy, so far from home, at this time of year. Do keep up the letters to your mom and dad and if you are not too hard pressed for time, my darling boy, write to us sometime. My heart is sore, thinking of you, so far from us, but we love you dearly and pray that you'll be back with your loved ones before too long. May God keep you in his care, always. Very much love, dear Dan.

Your loving, Gramma x x


Cliff, NM, July 28, 2024

Dear Gramma,

So many decades have passed since you wrote to me in that God forsaken Asian land, and so many years since that short visit with you before your passing in 1987. How do I make up for the fact that I let thousands of miles of land mass and 700 nautical miles of ocean turn me into a stranger? Even hundreds of years ago, people remained close simply by writing a letter.

I know in my heart that you and my dear mother's prayers kept me from death's door throughout all the days of my reckless life. If there is anything special about me, as you say, it is that I had the most special mother and grandmother anyone could have hoped for.

After rediscovering your letter in my mother's things, I noticed that the five dollars you enclosed for the St. Christofer's medal was still in the card—so I guess I never did buy it. I am not even sure if I answered your beautiful letter—hence this belated reply.

Please forgive me, Gramma, for as our Lord Jesus once said, "Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do".
Well, all for now, and God bless you and mom in the hereafter.

Your loving grandson, Dan

PS: I would love to come and visit—so if you and mom have any pull, please put in a word for me!

As an afterthought, I offer this reflection: The envelope was small in my hand, but inside it was a world I had forgotten—until mercy peeled it open. Just as a microscope reveals a hidden world of microbes, and an electron microscope delves even deeper into the realm of atoms, the tools of quantum measurement pierce the veil of the visible and touch the realm of eternity. Each layer, smaller in scale, opens into a realm more vast than the last. So too with memory, mercy, and meaning: the envelope, the microscope, the tools of quantum measurement—each is a doorway. The deeper we go, the more expansive the truth becomes.

Witness is not passive. It is the sacred act of seeing what was always there, waiting to be revealed. The confines of our individual worlds are small and insignificant compared to the eternity without. It is like peeling an onion from the inside out: each layer expands, not contracts. The deeper we go into memory, humility, and witness, the larger the world becomes. We do not shrink as we go inward—we awaken.