Letterbox

Dear Nana Ryley,

It's been years since we spoke properly, face to face without any interruptions or anything that might be niggling at the back of our minds, hasn't it? I miss those times when I would come to your and Papa's house in Tenby and, in good weather, we'd sequester ourselves in the garden with a plate of shortbread biscuits and a pitcher of mint tea sweetened with lemon and honey. Although, I have to admit that you were the only one who ever drank the tea when I was little. I'd take a biscuit or two and a glass of the cold tea, then pour out little bits of tea at a time when you weren't looking.

But for all the times that I acted as though I would much rather be somewhere else, I did love the summers when my parents would allow me to stay with you and Papa even for just a few days. I did quite a bit of growing up there, I think. That house certainly changed my life for the better. I just didn't realize it until much later. Especially when it came to the roses. God, those roses looked incredible. Or at least, they did the last time I saw them. It's still hard for me to believe that I helped plant most of those when I wasn't even ten years old.

You know, when I got into my teenage years and I started coming out there more often, it wasn't just for the conversation and the biscuits -- though I wouldn't ever turn down either one, as I still have a bit of an addiction to your shortbread. I came for the roses, to tend them and make sure that, when I left Wales so I could go to a university in London, you would have a way to remember me. I never told you before, and for that, I apologize. I wasn't nearly as sentimental in those days as I probably should have been.

When I got that letter from Papa a few months ago, I wanted to come back to Wales so bad and I know now that I should have. It shouldn't have been the big decision it turned out to be. More importantly, I shouldn't have made so many excuses for why I couldn't come back just then. Yes, work was busy and my boss was having a hard enough time with the small staff he already had for that particular show. And yes, I had just started seeing someone and didn't want him thinking I was running off never to be seen again. It kills me a little every day, knowing that I'll never be able to sit down for mint tea and buscuits again.

Why do things like this have to happen, Nana? You weren't nearly old enough to die and, as far as anyone knew, you were in really good health. I never did ask if anyone knew what caused it in the end, partially because I just didn't want to know. I admired you for the way you had so much life experience and yet never gave up the little bit of innocence that allowed you to see things in a way that I doubt most people your age ever would.

Saying that I'm going to miss you would be an understatement so big that I don't even want to think about it. I never got to say goodbye, so of course I'll miss you. I just hope you'll forgive me for being unable to cry until just now, as I write this letter. Normally, I wouldn't have a problem letting someone see me cry, but these tears are far too private, just as what we shared those summer afternoons in your rose garden was too special to let anyone else in on it. Goodbye, Nana, and please, don't worry about Papa. We'll take good care of him for you.

Your little grasshopper,

Damien