Dear Tommy,
I do not know what to do. It is two o'clock in the morning and I am sitting up here in the hospital and I should be studying for my history test, if I am awake anyway, but I am bored of reading. Mom's at work tonight and everyone else is too tired to come up here and I did not want Grandma to be alone. It would have been the first time. Everyone says she is going to die. No one comes right out and says it to me though. Which is stupid. I am fourteen years old, (almost 15!) not four.
I went to visit your grandma for a little bit tonight too. I hope you do not mind. I just know it is really hard for your family to make sure there is someone there for her all of the time.
It is so weird that both our grandma's are here doing the same thing, at the same time.
Sometimes I feel really bad because I think of all the times I just hated my Grandma.
This one time, Mom had found some writing that I had done. I was in grade five. I kept it tucked into the book I was reading, as a bookmark. And I would read it every time I opened the book. Sometimes I would read it twice. I know I read it a lot. I remember.
I knew it was good too, Tommy. Because it scared me. It really, really scared me. My own words terrified the crap out of me.
It was about Hell. How it must look. How it must feel.
When my Mom grabbed me by the arm, she was pretty mad, waving my piece of paper about. That scared the crap out of me too.
She dragged me to the car and Dylan and Scott were already strapped in the backseat and she made me get in.
She said, "I called your Dad at work. He is going to meet us at your Grandparent’s."
And they were all there. Dad and Grandma and Grandpa and all my Aunts and Uncles. They made me sit there in a chair, waiting on Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt to show-up, while they passed around my writing; gasping and looking up at me to shake their heads. Even my two older cousins, Drake and Phillip were there and they read it too. (you know Drake. remember you met him that time at the church picnic?)And when Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt finally arrived and read my words...all Hell broke loose.
And that scared the crap out of me too.
They yelled at me: "Where did you copy this from?" "What book is this from?" Drake aside: The Satanic Bible "The Devil is in you" "She is going to Hell. You are going to hell"
Just this dizzy sea of angry red faces.
And it made me angry too because they did not believe I had written the words. I kept saying, "I wrote it. I wrote it."
I looked at my grandmother and I said, "I wrote it." And she believed me. But instead my grandmother said, "The Devil wrote this." And then she lit her green lighter and lit the paper on fire.
And I cried and I cried and I cried.
I hated her so much for taking my words away.
The Devil did not write it. I had. Even if the Devil had worked his way into my soul, why would he want to show his kingdom under such unforgiving and terrifying light? In fact, if my soul was taken over by anyone it would have been God. Maybe He was letting me in on a little secret.
When I think back on it now, I am still sad I do not have that writing anymore. I tried to re-create it so many times, but never could. But I think my grandmother was trying to do some good. When she pronounced the work of the Devil everyone else took it to be I was in the clear. Saved from Hell. Whatever. She might have saved me from them bleeding me.
And besides, I know God is on my side and I have known that for a long time. And I know He is on your side too.
But I still did not talk to my Grandma for three months.
I feel really bad because of the other day, when you told me you could not come see your grandma because you felt bad for not always liking her. You are not alone. I feel bad too, but I still wish you would come up and see your grandma and stop beating yourself up over all the bad things you think you have done. Because you do lots of good things too, Tommy. Like making me smile. And He knows that too.
And that’s all that really matters.
Write back soon,
Samantha
I do not know what to do. It is two o'clock in the morning and I am sitting up here in the hospital and I should be studying for my history test, if I am awake anyway, but I am bored of reading. Mom's at work tonight and everyone else is too tired to come up here and I did not want Grandma to be alone. It would have been the first time. Everyone says she is going to die. No one comes right out and says it to me though. Which is stupid. I am fourteen years old, (almost 15!) not four.
I went to visit your grandma for a little bit tonight too. I hope you do not mind. I just know it is really hard for your family to make sure there is someone there for her all of the time.
It is so weird that both our grandma's are here doing the same thing, at the same time.
Sometimes I feel really bad because I think of all the times I just hated my Grandma.
This one time, Mom had found some writing that I had done. I was in grade five. I kept it tucked into the book I was reading, as a bookmark. And I would read it every time I opened the book. Sometimes I would read it twice. I know I read it a lot. I remember.
I knew it was good too, Tommy. Because it scared me. It really, really scared me. My own words terrified the crap out of me.
It was about Hell. How it must look. How it must feel.
When my Mom grabbed me by the arm, she was pretty mad, waving my piece of paper about. That scared the crap out of me too.
She dragged me to the car and Dylan and Scott were already strapped in the backseat and she made me get in.
She said, "I called your Dad at work. He is going to meet us at your Grandparent’s."
And they were all there. Dad and Grandma and Grandpa and all my Aunts and Uncles. They made me sit there in a chair, waiting on Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt to show-up, while they passed around my writing; gasping and looking up at me to shake their heads. Even my two older cousins, Drake and Phillip were there and they read it too. (you know Drake. remember you met him that time at the church picnic?)And when Aunt Deborah and Uncle Wyatt finally arrived and read my words...all Hell broke loose.
And that scared the crap out of me too.
They yelled at me: "Where did you copy this from?" "What book is this from?" Drake aside: The Satanic Bible "The Devil is in you" "She is going to Hell. You are going to hell"
Just this dizzy sea of angry red faces.
And it made me angry too because they did not believe I had written the words. I kept saying, "I wrote it. I wrote it."
I looked at my grandmother and I said, "I wrote it." And she believed me. But instead my grandmother said, "The Devil wrote this." And then she lit her green lighter and lit the paper on fire.
And I cried and I cried and I cried.
I hated her so much for taking my words away.
The Devil did not write it. I had. Even if the Devil had worked his way into my soul, why would he want to show his kingdom under such unforgiving and terrifying light? In fact, if my soul was taken over by anyone it would have been God. Maybe He was letting me in on a little secret.
When I think back on it now, I am still sad I do not have that writing anymore. I tried to re-create it so many times, but never could. But I think my grandmother was trying to do some good. When she pronounced the work of the Devil everyone else took it to be I was in the clear. Saved from Hell. Whatever. She might have saved me from them bleeding me.
And besides, I know God is on my side and I have known that for a long time. And I know He is on your side too.
But I still did not talk to my Grandma for three months.
I feel really bad because of the other day, when you told me you could not come see your grandma because you felt bad for not always liking her. You are not alone. I feel bad too, but I still wish you would come up and see your grandma and stop beating yourself up over all the bad things you think you have done. Because you do lots of good things too, Tommy. Like making me smile. And He knows that too.
And that’s all that really matters.
Write back soon,
Samantha
Comments
Don't want to trample on anything, so I only say about the writing.
But it's true, you can never recreate the thing you made that got broken.
My name is not Samantha.
It is nice to see you again. As always.
Q
Hi Q :)