I’m sitting by the window in my bedroom, staring out into the dimly lit street, clutching a small envelope in my lap while I write this. I’m physically shaking, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m not even a little ashamed to admit it. I am a broken man, and I have no idea what to do from here. Any advice would be very much appreciated, and I thank you for taking the time to read this. My story is going to jump around chronologically quite a bit, so I apologize for any confusion in advance.
When I was a small child, my parents split up through a lengthy and painful divorce. My father disappeared, and wouldn’t emerge back into my life until I was in my late teens. My mother, bless her, was working fifteen hour days to support me on her own. I love her to death for what she did. The tough part about her schedule, though, is that I never got to see her. This is where my grandmother picked up the slack. She would come over at six in the morning, before my mom left for work, and cook me breakfast. We would hang out all day and she became, in a way, my surrogate mom. She was largely responsible for raising me on her own, and dulled some of the pain that comes with losing a father. She instilled a lot of her personal values in me, and we had a great relationship.
We used to play this one game that I still think of fondly. We would sit on opposite sides of a closed door, in separate rooms. I would scrawl a message for her on a piece of paper and cram it poorly in an envelope. I would then knock on the door, and slide the envelope under the crack to her. She would open it and put on a big show about whatever the note said. Then, she would write her answer and “mail” it back to me, always with the same three knocks. Playing this way was a huge bonding experience for the two of us, and I spent many hours laughing with her over this stupid game. She was a saint for putting up with whatever made a troubled kid happy.
Anyway, about 12 years later, I was a senior in high school when I got the call. Grandma’s health had declined, and she was in the hospital. The next few weeks were a blur. I spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital visiting her, but her health continued to worsen. I’m sure many of you have had to go through the heartache of what happened next. She was placed on hospice care. Within an hour of arriving at the hospice facility, she took her last breath, and passed. My mother and I were the only ones in the room. The silence of that room, minus my mother’s muffled, quiet crying, sticks with me to this day.
Fast-forward to the present day. I’m a mid-twenties, post-college grad who is thankfully debt free and working an enjoyable job. I was engaged to the absolute love of my life, who I had met back in college. One afternoon last week, I got home from the gym after work, late at night. I was sitting in this same seat with my bedroom door closed, when it happened.
Three knocks on the door sounded out, and a small envelope slid through the crack under the door, into my room.
I jumped up reflexively, so hard that I knocked my chair down to the floor. My adrenaline was firing through my body, and my heart was suddenly ready to beat through my ribcage. I stood absolutely still, listening for a voice, footsteps, anything. After a moment passed, I called out: “Hello?”
Silence.
I walked slowly over to my bedroom door and opened it. There was no one on the other side. I peeked my head into the hall, looking to the left, then the right: nobody in sight. A quick scan of the house yielded nothing but locked doors and more silence. I was absolutely, utterly freaked out, and called my fiancé to explain the situation.
At first, she didn’t believe me. She thought I was playing with her. Soon, though, I think she caught on to the worry in my voice. “Justin,” she said, “what’s in the envelope?”
I froze. That hadn’t even dawned on me, as stupid as it sounds, to open it. “I gotta call you back, babe,” I said. I hung up the phone, and picked the envelope up off of the floor. It hadn’t been sealed, and inside, I found just one piece of blank, lined paper. The cheap kind that you would buy at a pharmacy: two reams, four dollars. I slid the piece of paper out of the envelope and opened it.
Hey, Bubby! I want you to know that you’re not alone, and that we love you, very, very much. You’re such a good young man. It’s so great to see how tough you’ve become! You’re going to have to be very strong in the coming months, and it’s going to be very hard, but you will get through this, just like you always have. I’m so proud of you. Love, RV!
I couldn’t believe what I had just read. As soon as I saw my grandmother’s initials, scrawled out in her beautiful, distinct cursive, our old game came flooding back to me. This was some sick prank, I was sure of it. I had told a bunch of my friends about our game over the years, and one of them felt the need to pull a joke on me. That was the only way I could rationalize what had happened. As weird as that night was, and as uncomfortable as I was, I couldn’t think of anything to do but put the envelope away in my desk and go to sleep. I would figure out which of my friends had done it in the morning.
The police called me while I was at work the next day.
I was in shock as I navigated the process of burying my fiancé. A car crash, late at night, they told me. A drunk driver crossed the double yellow line and plowed into her, head on. The sick part is that he was the one who survived. I felt numb at her funeral, like I had no tears left to cry. My soul felt like it had shattered into a thousand little pieces. I haven’t been back to work at all this week, and I haven’t been able to get out of bed, beyond slinking into the kitchen to eat some cereal and cry some more.
I was walking back into my room from one of these kitchen expeditions when I remembered the letter. This brings us full circle, back to the beginning of this post. I am sitting here, staring at this fucking piece of paper, wondering who delivered it, wondering who pranked me, and wondering why it sounds so oddly fucking prophetic. I don’t even know what I want to hear from you all about this. I guess I just felt like I had to put it out there, somewhere.
Thanks for reading.
Edit: After taking a few days to put some distance between myself and this situation, I have decided to take your advice and try replying to the letter. I’m thoroughly freaked out by the prospect of replying, but at this point, I have nothing left to lose. I might as well try. Maybe it is actually my grandmother after all. With what’s happened recently, I don’t see why I shouldn’t believe it was her, at this point. I’m going to sit down tonight and answer that letter, after I go to church this afternoon. I feel like I need some guidance first. Does anyone have any suggestions of what, exactly, I should say?
Again, thank you all for the help and support, and Merry Christmas. Please hold your loved ones close, for those of us who can’t.
