Year 01 | Week 22
I usually write these letters to you on the morning after the week in question has ended. Though for consistency’s sake I date each week’s letter with Tuesday’s date, you having been born on a Tuesday, I almost always end up writing these notes to you the next morning, Wednesday morning. Well, on the morning I was going to write you the letter for Week 22, your mother received some sad news from up north, from her family—some very sad news, indeed. And we got right in the car to drive up there to be with them. So I never got a chance to write to you about Week 22, the week you turned five months old, the week you met your only living great-great grandmother (as well as the only one of your three great grandmothers you had yet to meet). I could try to recapture the spirit of that week, but I’m sure I would fail. My mind is too clouded with the events of the week that came next, too muddled and confused by the terrible news that came just as I was about to sit down and write something wonderfully saccharine to you.
What was the news that came on Wednesday morning, as I was sitting down to type this letter to you? Well, Kay, I’m not even sure if I’ll believe it, even if I type it. But, here it is: your grandfather, Grampy Steve or Grandpa Woodsum or whatever you might have called him, was gone. He had passed on at the age of 49, just over a month shy of his fiftieth birthday.
I’ll write more to you of this terrible news when I sit down to write the letter for Week 23, our week of grieving and contemplation. For now, though, I need some more time to process it all.