Scarlet Ribbons

We were watching the garage sale at the house across the street. My son had flown in for the weekend, and as we were walking from the car, we both noticed the activity and the myriad assortment of items lining the nearby driveway.

The For Sale sign had only appeared recently, and until then I had been unaware the house was empty. Uncertain as to what had happened, and reluctant to inquire, I only hoped the elderly couple had moved on to a more suitable residence. However, I was unsure, and as I watched the items being inspected, chosen and rejected, I thought to myself, “It’s time.”

While we were having dinner, I mentioned my decision to start filtering out some of the personal possessions that I had gathered throughout the years, specifically, Mom’s letters all tied together with a scarlet ribbon. I have been thinking about it for a while, and yet hated the thought of destroying them. I was amazed and yet incredibly pleased when my son asked if he could have them. Without hesitation, I agreed.

Last night I took the thick packet tied with the scarlet ribbon out of the desk for the final time and reread the letters before putting them into the Priority Mail box and forwarding them to Florida. It took several hours, and as I read, I began to hear her voice again, firm, self-confident and yes, sometimes, highly critical. Still always, so prophetic. Admittedly, I wasn’t always happy after opening the envelope and reading the contents. Indeed sometimes I dreaded seeing another envelope arrive, but now as I sat and reviewed her words I realized how valuable her honesty and integrity in communication was. There were no innuendoes, merely statements, no apologies, and yes, undoubtedly, judgments. But in retrospect they were mostly based on the wonderful virtue of common sense. Something that seems so obviously lacking in today’s world.

Her letters cover a period of time close to thirty years. They record the years our family was intact, and the twilight days of her life as she grew older. She rarely suggested, but instead gave unsolicited advice which admittedly, I was reluctant to accept. Today I realize she was wiser than I ever acknowledged. There is a vein of wisdom in her words as she attempts to warn me about a future situation that would be beyond my control to change. I find it oddly consoling now that her dire prediction has become reality.

The letters are history, not of the world, but of a family; its joys, its sorrows, its anxieties, and remain a tribute to a woman who lived in a time and place that has faded into yesterday. I hope she would be pleased I kept them for so long, and perhaps happily surprised to learn they are traveling across country and will be read again. She would be delighted that one of her grandsons wanted them. The onionskin paper she used is brittle now, but her words have not dimmed, nor has the scarlet ribbon that entwines them. Neither will the memory of an incredible Lady who never hesitated to voice her very strong opinions.