Dear Nanna

Dear Nanna,

So much has happened since we last spoke. I graduated high school and went to Nebraska for college. I studied education, like mom, and had many life changing experiences. After college I moved back home and found a job teaching middle school in Cherry Creek. Becoming an adult has had its ups and downs: the freedom of finally being on my own mixed with figuring out bills, budgets, and breakups (I’ve had more of those than I would like to admit).

Erin got married to Eric and last year had a son. They named him Paul, after dad. He is so stinkin’ cute. His laughter and movement around the house ignite something new in the family. He is a happy boy. You should see mom with him: they are best buds. You and I know how that is. The family is closer than ever. Dad is happier than I have ever seen. He and Paul giggle, make funny noises, and wrestle. Erin is an incredible mom - no surprise there. She had years of practice trying to “mother” me. She is loving and caring and is instilling in little Paul the same values you taught us growing up.

I found God last year and was baptized in May.  Since then, I’ve had supreme highs and devastating lows. I have realized many of my strengths and weaknesses. Now I can finally say I feel like I know where I am going in life, and it is a great feeling.

I saw a video about the relationship between a grandmother and grandson through different seasons of life today that made me think of you. It reminded me of all of our adventures. Going to the park when I was young. Home cooked meals; I feel like I grew up in an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Your thrifty shopping at Kohl’s (using a coupon, during the early bird, and your senior citizen discount day). You taking my football pants to me when I forgot them and yelling, “I have your training pants!” As a teenager, driving to your doctor’s appointments in the Volvo. That got me thinking of your personality. Your witty jokes. Your immaculate handwriting. Your love, loyalty, and trust. The look in your eye when I disappointed you. Even when I was over six feet tall and 200 pounds, I was still intimidated by you. But your warm hugs could heal any pain with love taps, your special mid-hug pats on the back.

I still remember that day. The day Dad came into my room. The look on his face as he told me not to come downstairs. Confused, I bounced out of bed. Looking down from the top of the stairs at the exact moment the EMTs wheeled you out. Falling to my knees crying. Being with you at the hospital. Checking through the doors to the ICU. The sounds of the equipment. Reading that book to you for seven days. How they took you off life support and only gave you thirty minutes to live, but you made it through that whole night and the next day. How I wasn’t there when you took your last breath. The panic I felt when Dad told me that you passed. I wanted to run red lights to get to you faster. I remember the sound of the highway underneath the tires. When I finally got to see you, you looked so beautiful. Peaceful. And I was so thankful for that.

I could never begin to express what you mean to me. How you impacted my life. You were my rock, my everyday constant variable, and it’s been hard without you. Sometimes I get mad, other times sad. But I’m always grateful. I am grateful because the older I get, the more I realize how blessed I was to have you in my life. Lessons you taught me shape my actions, mold my future, and enhance my experiences. I will live a life that will make you proud. I will make sure all of your hard work was not in vain. I look forward to the day we can speak again with all my heart. Until then, I miss you Margaret Virginia Peterson, my MVP.

With Love,

Your Prince, David