Grandma’s Hands

 

 

Love, Wea

 

Thanks to my 37 years on planet earth – a few hundred people know my name to be Mawiyah.

Thanks to this little blog several thousand gorgeous humans know this fact as well.

But only a handful of folks know me as “Wea”… And fewer still as “Love, Wea”

Grandma certainly did.

 

My sweet, silver-eyed granny flew home to live in Heaven a few days ago.  I have been wanting to tell you about it but I just couldn’t get the words out.  Probably because it was words and Grandmas hands that solidified our 31 year stint as official “pen-pals”… The words… Yes Lord, the words.

 

 

Allow me tell you about my Grandmas hands.  I always lived in sunny,  California and my Grandma – my “Momma Cassie” always dwelled with all the delicious cheese in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  I was 6 years old when I went to the mailbox with my mother and saw an envelope addressed to “Mawiyah Weaver” – sure there was also a letter addressed to “Omari Weaver”, this long-haired kid they called my brother but it was as if my name and address had been written in lights.  I starred at it – hard.  I studied the windy curves of the print and marveled as to how the postman found me all the way from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Opening this letter was like opening a portal to another world.

 

Yep, it was that dramatic.  Momma Cassie enclosed a hand written note detailing the snow that had just fallen in her corner of the world, the oatmeal she prepared that morning and gave me license to buy whatever I wanted with the $5 bill she’d tucked in between the words.  She had me at hello.

 

 

I immediately sat down and according to my mother, spent the better part of an hour crafting my reply.  It outlined my gratitude for such a thoughtful gesture, an exuberant account about the biscuits and syrup my mom had served that morning and a hand drawn picture to accompany it.  (Geez, some things never change) And because one good turn deserves another, I taped a penny to the bottom of the letter and signed it…

 

Love, Wea

 

From that moment on until just two weeks ago, we have been pen-pals.  The last letter I sent her included two hand drawn pictures from my kids and a heartfelt appreciation for the HUNDREDS of letters we exchanged over the years.  Man did we get into it.  Something about The Words allowed me to be uninhibited…  I shared my secret crushes, my deepest dreams, my hidden fears.  My life was in those letters and hers as well.  Oh, the stories we shared. And since I knew she’d be waiting for the next edition in the long running saga of my life, I had to make it good.  I had to take courage and dance with the cute boy at the Middle School Pajama Jam and slay the director at the big commercial audition and see the Hawaiian sun and go for the big job interview because Momma Cassie was waiting… and reading with rapt attention.

 

She deserved a great story and I wanted to give it to her.  She made me better. While letting me be… me.  When I fell, her hands – even though they were so far away would write to me and pick me back up.  When I cried, her hands would use her words to wipe away a multitude of tears.

 

Unbeknownst to me, my captive audience of one proved to be a rouse! I always suspected that she might allow my beloved Grandpa a peek at our exclusive correspondence, but I was shocked to discover that my letters were passed around like a joint at a Bob Marley concert.  Since the beginning.  Upon receipt they were shared with every willing, living being in her world.  Did I mention everyone? How could she? Why would she?

 

And then a smile as wide as the distance between us came across my face.  What a blessing.  She was my first publisher.

Alright, so here comes the part where I wipe the tears off my MacBook Pro because the time and distance between us has been banished.  My Momma Cassie has a front row seat from Heaven to watch the antics in the life that I call mine.

 

Dear Momma Cassie,

I hope you enjoy the show.  I hope I make you smile.  I will see you again one day.

Love, Wea

 

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