On July 1, 2019, we were driving back from a visit with my mother-in-law when we received a phone call from my oldest son. That phone call changed our life drastically.  Our thirteen year old grandson was dead. He died in a fluke accident on his dirt bike.

Johnny wasn’t new to dirt-biking but he was new to this bike, he had gotten the bigger bike the day before and this was his first time riding it. The anguish in my son’s voice still haunts me today. We all went through the motions, the arrangements,  and the funeral.  The community turned out in droves. It was awesome seeing all the people that my grandson touched in his short life.

There was tribute football game for him as a fundraiser for the scholarship that’s been established in his name. His teammates played their hearts out on the field, and wept in the locker room as the realization finally hit home. Johnny wouldn’t ever be there again.

Over time, people go on with their lives. But it’s not as easy for the family to simply jump back into normal routines. Nothing is the same as it was.  As a grandparent, your role is definitely different because you have to be strong to help your child get through the horrendous loss of their child. As a mom, you want to make everything all right again. But this isn’t something you can fix or change. It’s every parents worse nightmare, seeing their child in so much pain that you forget you’re in pain too!  You lost someone precious too! But no one really asks how you are?  I’m blessed to have friends that do.

So many people have nudged me to write, to do something … anything. I’ve scribbled in my journal and blogged randomly but nothing has inspired me. I’ve crocheted a lot recently just to be busy. It helped me get through the holidays. But my wrist isn’t thrilled with the repetitious motion. A friend of mine on Writing. com offered a suggestion that hit a chord with me in a way I didn’t expect.  She suggested I write letters to my grandson, tell him all the things I feel and wished I had the opportunity to say.  Initially, I resisted but the seed was planted.

I decided to take her suggestion and write letters to my grandson for a year. Fifty-two letters to Johnny, all the things I wished we had time to say.

Dear Johnny,

It’s been five months since you died. We’ve cried a million tears since that day. Who knew the words in the song you loved would hit home so hard. “The sharp knife of a short life” from the song If I Die Young by The Band Perry. I found your liking of the song odd when you told me but now I’m wondering if you knew your time here would be short. “Funny, when your dead how people start listenin”

Did you think I didn’t listen enough? I’ve spent a lot of time wondering that. Did I listen to you? Did I listen enough to your Dad?  I wish I had more than I did…  I’m trying to now.