After going through a house move and an office move last
year you would think the last thing I would want to do is unpack more boxes. For
some crazy reason, though (probably because I am actually crazy), that’s
exactly what I did last weekend.
Richard went to the Bay Area with his mom and brother to see
his other brother’s new grandson (exciting!) while Robert and I stayed home and
hung out with the dogs. Robert slept quite a bit which gave me an opportunity
to get things done around the house.
I started by creating the to-do list of all to-do lists.
I have no idea why I had so much energy – especially since I
had given up caffeine the week before. You’d think I would be comatose on the
couch, unable to move without my Venti
Non-Fat, No-Whip Mocha (or two) coursing through my veins.
Mmmmm, mochas. . .
Anyway, I digress.
I started by looking for copies of my book, Forever a Caregiver. I was sure I had
extra copies at home and thought they might be packed away in a box in the
garage. I was determined to find them!
Well, one thing led to another and I searched through several
boxes in the garage, which then led to (don’t ask) cleaning out and
reorganizing not only my bedroom closet but my office closet and Robert’s
closet.
Then I cleaned the house.
I started wondering if I accidentally drank actual coffee
instead of the stuff in the cabinet labeled decaf.
I never did find my books but I did empty a lot of boxes. A
delightful surprise when emptying those boxes was that I found a lot of old
photos and even ran across letters I wrote home from my Girl Scouts summer
camp.
Oh boy!
These letters were not only fun to read, giving me a glimpse
into my 10 year old mind but they also gave me a gift. As a young adult, I had reread
some of my diaries which caused me much distress. (Note to millennials: these were small
journals with tiny little locks that people used to write their innermost
thoughts and then scream and yell when a pesky little brother tried to break
the lock and read all the secrets contained inside. You know them now as “Facebook”
and “Snapchat.”).
In one of my diaries I asked “Diary” why little Robbie
bothered me so much. In fact, I told Diary that I didn’t think I even liked
him.
Oh, ouch!
That was tough to read. Was I a terrible older sister? My
goodness, my little brother went through all kinds of crap at school and with
having seizures and here I was saying I didn’t like him? Where was my
compassion and empathy and patience?!
These letters that I wrote during summer camp (and Mom was
kind enough to save for me) showed me a different kind of big sister than Diary
had led me to believe. I only found
three of the letters but they were enough to reassure me that I did have compassion
and empathy and patience and didn’t just accidentally come by it as an adult.
Let me share these letters with you. Keep in mind I have
horrible memories of summer camp. My homesickness knew no bounds and I have no
idea why I agreed to go year after year.
I suspect these were written in 1971 or 1972 but I don’t
really have a way of knowing for sure. I
changed my nickname from “Patti” to “Tricia” when I was 12 so these were
written before the big name change. (I
am including the typos and misspellings even though it kills me to do so!)
July 13
Dear Robbie,
How are you? I’m Fine.
Thanks For the Letters.
The’re cute. Only two more days and I’ll see you!
Did you get mom a
birthday present? Have you had a wedding rehursul yet? Did you get your tux? IF
you did I bet you anything you’ll be the best ringbery in History. I love you.
Have you been swimming? I Hope so! If you were Here when there was mice in
cindy’s Footlocker you’d Kill them, I know.
Well bye!
Luv ya,
Patti
P.s Please write
Was I actually advocating for killing mice? Yikes!
Definitely was my pre-Animal Rights/Vegetarian days.
Then there’s this (and I don’t think we were required to
write home daily – it was the homesickness, I’m sure!):
July 14
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? I’m Fine.
We just got back From the overnight. I didn’t write last night cause we could
not. We had to go to Bed. I only have four pieces of Paper so I’m writing you
together, the boys together, grandma and grandpa together & the other
grandma & grandpa togeter.
Please send me Eddie’s,
Rogie’s, Great grandma’s address (nevermind) cause it’ll be the Last day when I
write. Tell Eddie Hi Rogie Hi Julie Hi Lynda
Hi & steve & tod Hi, ok? Are you still working good, dad? I’m sure
you are. Well sorry it was such a short Letter but I don’t have enough paper.
Luv ya,
Patti
P.S write Soon
Apparently, my paper multiplied . . .
July 14
Dear great swimmer
& handsome
How are you? I’m Fine.
I’m writing you together cause I only have 4 pieces of paper. We are about to
Have Lunch. What are you haveing For Lunch? I don’t know what we’re Having. are
you going swimming at cryer ave? I’m going at 2:30 I have to eat lunch Bye
Luv ya,
Patti
P.s Write soon
 |
| Posing with Dad, his parents and two of his brothers ("Robbie" is on the left, Other Brother is next to him) |
Finding these letters not only gave me a slightly better
looking garage but gave me some peace of mind about how I treated “Robbie” when
we were kids. I never really thought about being a sibling of someone who
needed extra care and attention. It never felt like it affected me as a child
but I now realize it affected me as an adult. Not because I felt left out as a
child and carried that with me (that was obviously impossible with our close,
extended family) but because as an adult I wondered if I treated Robert with
care or if I was impatient and terrible toward him and felt guilty about it.
I definitely had my moments of impatience with him that I
distinctly remember and that most likely ended up in my diary but I realize I did
care about “Robbie” more than I realized.
Thank goodness “letting go of guilt” can be crossed off my
to-do list.
No comments:
Post a Comment