The letter continued.
“And one more thing.
“Stop looking frightened every time that child climbs something.”
“You climbed everything.”
“Your mother was worse.”
Mom said, “That is a lie.”
Grandma immediately said, “You climbed onto a garage roof at eight.”
“I was retrieving a ball.”
“You used the drainpipe.”
“I was resourceful.”
Even I laughed.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
“If I am there when this is opened, somebody give me the baby.
“If I am not, tell her I waited a very long time to meet her.”
“And tell her I was glad she came.”
I couldn’t finish the signature.
I folded the letter against my chest.
Then I crawled across the grass and put my arms around my grandmother.
Carefully.
She felt frighteningly small.
