Dear Grammy,

When I was a child, you were a constant and beautiful force in my life. Days spent with you were precious and imagination-filled. Your love for reading, literature, and the arts have been one of the major factors that have inspired my life’s work.

If you were here today, I would talk to you about many things. I know you suffered. I felt it in my bones as a child, but didn’t really know how to respond.

I’ll never forget the day I realized you had only one breast. I’m guessing I was four or five-years-old — that day I saw how the doctors had scarred and left you bare.

My heart throbbed.

“Mom, what happened to Grammy?” I asked one day.

“What do you mean Jen?”

“You know, she only has one of those,” I pointed to my Mom’s chest. “What happened to her?”

“Oh…well she had to have it removed. Her doctor found a lump and removed it to keep her safe.”

I didn’t completely understand, but it pained me to know you had suffered.

I wish I could have comforted you when you found the lump — when you experienced the pain of going under the knife.

Born in 1908, by the time I was an adult you were already struggling with dementia. Had you been able to comprehend and answer, there were so many questions I would have asked.

I wonder if you felt ashamed the first time your husband saw you with only one breast?

Did you think of yourself as less of a woman?

Did you feel supported?

I remember your blue, blue eyes and kind smile. Your beautiful hands.

Your love for me was always so tangible. I never questioned your adoration.

I remember the last time I saw you when you were in your 90s. I arrived just in time to hold your hand into the early morning hours — before you took your last breath. With all my being, I tried to pour loving energy into your being, knowing following your death you would find wholeness again.

Inside, I can still connect deeply with the child I once was — and my desire to protect you after I discovered your wound.

Love Jen