I’ve also held on to my dream, the dream of a life filled with family. No matter how old a person gets, they can still dream. They can still believe in miracles.
I’ve carried this dream with me for the better part of a lifetime. Oh, there might have been times when I thought it had disappeared, but it was still there tucked behind my everyday worries.
The day I received the letter, my dream resurfaced. I could feel my heartbeat again, and I knew hope was stirring inside my soul. Hundreds of thousands of times I’ve prayed for just such a miracle, but I never expected it would appear in a dog-eared gray envelope.
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. McDermott,” the letter began. “I don’t know if you really remember me, because my family left New Jersey when I was only two years old.”
The moment I saw those words, my heart began pounding. I grabbed onto the arm of Charlie’s old recliner and lowered myself into the seat, collapsing under my own weight. After all the years of waiting I had no time to cry, so I continued reading through a waterfall of tears.
“Recently I came across some information that leads me to believe that Elizabeth Caruthers, my birth mother, was your daughter. My mother passed away in 1986, and her maiden name was McDermott. Other than this, I have very few details. I’m contacting you in the hope of finding my grandparents. I am anxious to learn more about my mother’s life and the unclear details surrounding her death. If we are in fact related, would you be willing to meet with me?
“My name is Christian Caruthers,” the letter went on. “I live in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. My older brother David is married, and we have a sister named Kimberly…”
He asked if I would be willing to see him. Imagine that—willing to see him! Why, for the past twenty years, I’ve wondered what he’d grown to look like. Two decades ago I spied a blue-eyed child at a playground in Westfield. I rushed over and asked the boy his name. Willing to see him? Why, I’d go to my grave a happy woman if I could have the chance to hug those children to my chest and tell them how much I love them.
Without a minute’s hesitation, I sat down at Charlie’s old desk and scratched out an answer to the boy’s letter.
“Elizabeth most certainly was my daughter,” I wrote, “and I was right there the day she gave birth to you.” I went on to say nothing in the entire world would give me greater pleasure than a visit from him, David, and Kimberly. I wanted to say Kimmie, but since Christian had referred to her as Kimberly I was reluctant to say anything that might change his mind about coming for a visit. I signed the letter “Your loving grandma, Claire McDermott.” I wrote my telephone number big and bold, the way people are inclined to do as they get on in years. Once that letter disappeared into the mailbox, I began waiting.
May 2006
Claire’s heart fluttered as she peered from the window for the fourth time in less than an hour. It was too early and she knew it but she felt too restless to simply sit and wait, so she repeatedly searched the street as if doing so could somehow hurry them along. The trip from Doylestown would be two, maybe three hours according to Christian. He’d said they were coming for lunch. She glanced at the clock and wondered if they might come early and if after so many years she’d recognize them.
Claire stepped back from the window and lowered herself onto the sofa. She began leafing through the photo album she’d taken from the closet. The leather cover was worn away along the edges and many of the black and white snapshots yellowed with age, but in every photo she saw living color and could remember the time of its taking.
The first few pages showed Elizabeth as a bright-eyed teenager. Then came the pages where she was so obviously in love, picture after picture of her and Jeffrey clinging to each other as if no force on earth could pry them apart. After that was the photo of Liz standing sideways with her round belly and, on the following page, holding baby David in her arms.
The camera continued to click as David grew. There was his first tooth, several birthday parties, the day he started school. Kimberly was also there, a ball of bunting propped against a pillow, a toddler clomping around in Liz’s shoes, her mouth smeared with lipstick. Of Christian there was still only the photo taken at the hospital.
How ironic, Claire thought, that the child who’d received the least attention should be the one to find his way back home. She felt the flutter in her chest a second time, so she closed the album and went back to the window. As she stood there stretching her neck to see to the end of the street, she thought about his telephone call. It came five days after she sent the letter.
“Hi,” he’d said in a youthful, upbeat voice. “This is Christian Caruthers. I got your letter, and I’m looking forward to meeting you.”
“Me too,” Claire answered soulfully. Hungry for every morsel of the past twenty years, she asked question after question.
“Everyone is fine,” Christian assured her. “Except Dad, he died last year. That’s how I came across your name and address. It was on some court papers he had stored in the garage.”
Christian didn’t say anything else about Jeffrey. Instead he talked about his brother and sister.
“Dave, he’s married and has a two-year-old daughter. Kim lives in New York now, works for an ad agency, Humphrey something and something.”
“And you?” Claire asked.
“Well, I was hoping to be an elephant trainer.”
“An elephant trainer?” she repeated.
Christian gave a mischievous chuckle. “Yeah, but nobody was hiring elephant trainers, so I settled for stockbroker.”
“You rascal,” Claire replied, then she swung into another string of questions.
They talked for nearly an hour, Christian telling of his family’s life, Claire trying to erase the lost years.
“So, Grandma,” he finally said, “what are you doing next weekend?”
~ ~ ~
A dark blue Ford turned the corner, distracting Claire from her thoughts, but once the car had passed she returned to thinking about her youngest grandson. He’d said he would bring his fiancée. How unbelievable. She’d last seen him crawling on the floor, and now here he planned to get married. Meredith; he’d said her name was Meredith.
A little red sports car turned onto the street and slowed, the driver alone. The car passed by the house, then turned and parked two houses down. Claire watched for a few seconds, but when she saw no other cars she turned back to the living room thinking she’d plump the sofa pillows one last time. Claire had barely lifted the second pillow when the doorbell chimed.
She flung open the door expecting to see Christian and Meredith, but instead a woman who she might have mistaken for Elizabeth stood alone.
“Kimberly?” Claire gasped.
The woman gave a smile and nodded. Suddenly Claire saw the little girl she once was. Through the years her hair had darkened to her mother’s shade, a dark blond that at first glance looked brown.
Claire gasped, raising her hand to her heart, her knees collapsing.
“Grandma!” Kimberly’s hand shot out and grabbed Claire. “Are you all right?” She led Claire inside and helped her to the sofa.
“Sorry,” Claire said. “I suppose it was just the shock of seeing you after all these years, and I never expected—”
“I know. Chris wanted me to surprise you.”
“Well, you certainly did.”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Claire began to tell her where to find the kitchen, but Kimberly obviously knew exactly where to go. When she returned, Claire asked, “Do you remember—”
“Yes,” Kimberly said with a chuckle. “A good bit. It drives Dave crazy, because I can remember things he doesn’t.”
“Do you remember your mother?”
“Not everything. But I remember how pretty Mama was. Her hands were soft as velvet. And the sound of her voice, I remember that. I remember her reading to us and the way she would make those stories seem so magical. I had a brown bunny book that was my favorite.”
“Well if that isn’t something,” Claire said in amazement. “You remember all of that and you were just a tiny little thing, barely three years old, when Elizabeth bought you that book.”
“I remember a lot of things, even you, Grandma.” Kimberly smiled. “I remember you made cookies shaped like angels. Only back then you had brown hair.”
“And less wrinkles.” Before she could ask if Kimberly remembered the year they made paper Valentines, the doorbell chimed a second time.
“Stay there, I’ll get it.” Kimberly hurried to the door. “You were supposed to be here by eleven,” she scolded in a whispered voice. “Grandma was expecting you, and when she saw me it almost scared her to death!”
“I’m glad to see you too.” Christian grinned and gave his sister a hug.
He stood well over six feet tall and had the casual gait of a tennis player. Claire recognized the ocean blue of his eyes, the same color as Elizabeth’s. Although Kimberly’s hair had darkened over time, his was still the color of corn silk.
“Hi, Grandma,” he said, then bent and kissed her cheek as casually as if they’d seen one another just days ago. “Meredith,” he said, tugging the brown-eyed girl forward. “This is my grandma.”
Suddenly they all began talking at once, about what used to be, who remembered what, where they’d lived, and what they’d done for the past twenty years. A tear came to her eye when Claire told them that Charlie had passed away five years ago. “He surely did miss you kids, especially David, because he’s the one who used to follow your grandpa around all the time. Whatever Charlie was doing, David would tag along.”
Claire paused a moment then said, “By the way, where is David? Is he supposed to be my next surprise?”
Kimberly shrugged.
“It’s tough to say,” Christian answered, “I asked him, but…” He hesitated briefly then said, “Dave’s got issues.”
“Issues?”
“Yeah, but let’s not spoil today talking about him.” Christian flashed a mischievous smile. “I’d rather talk about how I almost became an elephant trainer.”
“You goof,” Kimberly said playfully.
For a while they continued talking about the years they’d lost and their plans for the future. Almost nothing was said about Jeffrey, and Claire didn’t ask. At two o’clock she caught sight of the time and recalled they’d come for lunch.
“Oh my goodness!” she said. “I’ve got to get some food on the table.” She lifted herself from the sofa when the doorbell rang.
Kimberly arched an eyebrow and gave Christian a nod. He stood and turned toward the door, but Claire had opened it.
If Claire had recognized Kimberly by the likeness to her mother, she could just as easily know this caller by the likeness to his father. He had Jeffrey’s square-cut chin, dark hair, and dark eyes in an emotionless face.
“Good afternoon,” he said stiffly. “I’m David. This is my wife, Claudia, and our daughter Christine.” He stood there waiting to be invited inside.
“Well, of course I know you’re David!” Claire exclaimed joyfully. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your grandma.”
When he didn’t say anything for a few moments, her smile began to fade. Of all the children she and Charlie had known David, their first grandchild, the longest. Ideally he should have rushed in and thrown his arms around her. But Claire also remembered the way he’d begun to change just before Jeffrey had snatched David, Kimberly, and Christian from her. She remembered how David had become sullen and withdrawn during those last visits with Elizabeth. Claire held her breath and reached for him. He stood there, barely an arm’s length away, but didn’t respond to her gesture.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he said politely.
~ ~ ~
As they gathered around the table and ate, Christian and Kimberly talked non-stop. David said hardly a word. He barely touched the food on his plate, taking an occasional bite of one thing or another, then shoving the remainder to the side.
“If you don’t care for turkey, I can fix you something else,” Claire volunteered. Without even glancing in her direction, David shook his head and said there was no need.
Pushing past the awkwardness, Kimberly jumped into a colorful story about the school in Brownsville, Texas. “That teacher spoke with such a drawl I couldn’t understand a word she said! And she kept sending notes home saying I had a language problem. You remember old Missus Cooper, don’t you, Dave?”
He nodded, but his icy expression didn’t change.
“You children have made me so happy,” Claire said. “All those years I was without you, I kept praying and asking God to bring you back.”
David smacked his napkin down atop the food on his plate. “Well, instead of all that praying,” he said sarcastically, “why didn’t you try sending a postcard?”
Kimberly smacked her hand against her forehead. “I knew he’d do it!” she grumbled. “He just couldn’t keep his mouth—”
“A postcard?” Claire cut in. “I sent more than a postcard! I sent letters, birthday cards, Christmas cards! Every last one of them came back marked return to sender!”
“So you say,” David countered.
“I can prove it!” Claire stood so quickly her chair toppled backward.
“Don’t get upset, Grandma,” Christian said, taking hold of her arm.
“Yeah.” Kimberly shot an angry glare across the table. “Dave is just being Dave!”
“But it’s true,” Claire protested. “All those years, the cards, the gifts, I’ve saved them all. There’s a box for each one of you.” Claire went down the hall, Christian trailing behind her.
The three cartons sat on the top shelf of the closet in what had once been Charlie’s study along with Kimberly’s Cabbage Patch Doll. The time had finally come to take the doll from the shelf.
The Lost Years
Claire shuffled through the cartons, then handed each of her three grandchildren an envelope postmarked 1986.
“We sent these cards the year your mother died.” A scrap of emotion got caught in Claire’s throat. She paused for a moment and then continued. “Elizabeth was so sick that year, I’d be afraid to leave her long enough to go to the store. But taking care of your mom didn’t mean we’d forgotten you. Your grandpa went to the drug store and bought those cards while I stayed with Elizabeth. Go ahead, open them.”
One by one, they began to slit open the envelopes. David, whose birthday occurred in April, opened his first and as he slid the card from the yellowed envelope a ten-dollar bill fluttered into his lap.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s what we could do for your birthday. I wasn’t able to shop for a gift that year, so we decided to send money and let you get whatever you wanted.” Claire gave a good-natured chuckle. “Of course, back then ten dollars was ten dollars.”
“This is from you and Grandpa,” David said, his voice registering a note of surprise. He began to read aloud. “Dearest David, we miss you so very much. There is not a day that goes by when we don’t think of you and wonder if you are well and happy. This is a very difficult year and we can’t be with you on your birthday, but we are certainly thinking of you and wishing you a wonderful day. Lots and lots of love, Grandma and Grandpa. P.S. When the Lord allows us to be together again I’m going to bake a big chocolate cake for your birthday! Grandma.” When he stopped reading and looked up, a tear glistened in his eye.
“Dad never told us…”
Kimberly, with a May birthday, opened her card next. It also held a ten-dollar bill. She read aloud. “Dearest Kimberly, we’re wishing you a birthday fit for a princess, because to us you truly are one. You are as sweet and beautiful as your mother. We mis
s you so very much, sweetheart, and wish we could be with you. Perhaps next year. Please be a good girl, and never forget how very much we both love you. Grandma and Grandpa. Hey,” she said jokingly, “I didn’t get a chocolate cake offer!”
Everyone laughed, their soft and gentle laughter woven with feelings of both tenderness and regret.
Christian, born in the same month his mother died, opened his envelope next. Inside there was another ten-dollar bill along with a letter. He read the card first. It was simply a wish for a wonderful birthday and much happiness. Then he unfolded the letter.
“Dearest Christian. We are thankful that you are far too young to read these words for they are truly the saddest we’ve ever written. Your dear sweet mother passed away just days ago, and although our hearts are too heavy to be thinking of celebrations, we want you to know that your birth was truly a blessing, not only to us, but to your mother. It is heartbreaking to realize that you will never know the joy and goodness of her, for she loved you dearly.
“Your mother did not have an abundance of time to spend with you, but she treasured every moment she did have. Please know, Christian, that although your mother has gone to be with our blessed Lord, you are loved. For we love you, your brother, and your sister, just as we loved your mother. Be well, sweet child, and we shall pray that better days are to come.”
Christian’s voice cracked with emotion as he finished. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
~ ~ ~
Claire handed her grandchildren and cards from 1987, and each took their turn reading aloud. The cards all bore similar messages—we love you, we miss you, please write, please call, let us know where you are, how to get in touch with you. After 1987, they went through 1988, then 1989.
When David opened the envelope sent in 1990, a twenty-dollar bill dropped out.
“Inflation,” Claire said, and they laughed.
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