I know I’m extraordinarily lucky. I recently said goodbye to my last grandparent when she passed away in December. I was 47. My grandmother was 96.
Still, losing Ma Bea wasn’t easy. That’s what I called her when I was a toddler. My grandmother was a constant in my life. Birthday parties, dance recitals, gymnastic meets, community theater productions, award ceremonies — she was always there watching me, cheering me on.
I recently found letters my grandmother and I wrote to one another when I attended sleepaway camp in the 1980s, including photos from summers spent swimming, boating and playing tennis at Camp Starlight. Finding the photos wasn’t a big surprise — we’re a “say cheese” kind of family. But it wasn’t until an old friend from camp texted me to ask if I had any that included her that I dug into my bins of albums and found the letters.
My grandmother was a saver of handwritten notes and photos. She inherited this trait from her father, my great-grandfather, a commercial photographer turned memory album maker. Poppa George was a precursor to Shutterfly. He spent his retirement making annotated photo albums for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. So when my friend asked for a photo, I knew where to look.
Grandma Bea often told me she never knew her grandparents, so when it was her turn to become one, she wanted to embrace that role. Which is exactly what she did in May of 1976 when I was born. I’m the “first” grandchild which made me very special to her. She told me this a lot in her personal notes. They were always handwritten, always in cursive.
This one is from August 2, 1988:
Dear Jaime:
“Thank you for your last letter after visiting day. We enjoyed reading all about what’s happening at camp. Glad you won your softball game. I found the Koosh ball, inside my bra, in my drawer, and I put it in Pop’s briefcase. I had the toy store send up 3 Koosh balls, let me know when you get them. We had a very nice mini vacation – first to Tanglewood and then to Newport, Rhode Island. We visited some mansions and beautiful homes and took a boat ride.”
Love,
Grandma Bea
I remember when Koosh balls were popular. I also remember how wonderful it was to receive her letters. Our counselors would hand out mail during our rest hour. We couldn’t wait to see who got one.
The letters I wrote to her were not that exciting. You might even call them boring. Apparently, I really wanted my grandparents to know about my sleeping arrangements.
Dear Grandma and Grandpa
How are you? I’m fine. I wrote to Jeff, Rachel and Sarah. I’m sleeping on the top bunk. I’m having fun at camp. Yesterday was Lindsay’s birthday. We went to Alyse’s. That’s an ice cream pizza place.
I love you.
Jaime
When I re-read the letters and look at the pictures now, I’m reminded of just how much my grandparents loved me. And how much I loved them back. I have a solid collection of photos of my grandmother with me but there’s something about the camp shots that are extra poignant. We both look happy. And healthy. And young. And no one has a phone in their hand.
What a blessing it was to have healthy grandparents. Year after year my grandparents made the 2.5-hour drive from Springfield, New Jersey to Starlight, Pennsylvania for visiting day. I’m not sure I truly appreciate how lucky I was to have them make the trek to camp. My sons’ camp keeps visiting day low key. Just parents and siblings. No extended family.
I liked to say I was the luckiest granddaughter in the world. When my grandmother passed away, I kept thinking how much I wanted to reverse time so I could be a child again. I wanted her to dote on me. I yearned for her buttery cupcakes, our trips to the flea market, the way she made me feel like the most important person in the world, like my 5th birthday when she fulfilled my request for a “cake” made out of Jell-O in the shape of a number 5.
I will always miss my grandmother. She will always be the first person I think of when I hear “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” But I know I am fortunate that not only I but my children also got to be on the receiving end of her love.
And since she saved everything, I have a few letters my boys sent to her, also from summer camp.
I’ve saved a few things, too. A few years ago, my grandmother left me a voicemail saying she had received a letter from my older son.
“I just got such a lovely letter from Henry. Oh my God, it made my day. It made me feel so happy and so proud. He is just such a special boy. I was just so thrilled to get that letter.”
I asked my grandmother to text me a picture of the letter so I could read it, too.
“The pool is so nice,” he wrote. And “the heat wave is almost over.” Henry also wrote that he was excited to try out the camp’s new “state-of-the-ark” [sic] ropes course.
My husband and I consider ourselves lucky that our kids write home with some consistency. A friend gently reminded me that my kids have an unfair advantage since both of their parents are journalists.
Once again, both of our children are at sleepaway camp. And while I’m sad that my grandmother is no longer here to write them letters or receive them, I’m grateful that they can continue the letter writing tradition with my parents, their grandparents. I don’t know if we will save every letter that makes its way from New Jersey to Upstate New York or vice versa, but you can be sure that somewhere my mom is starting her own file system for camp notes.
