“Here,” she said, handing it to me. I looked at it. It was written on thick, cream-colored paper. My grandmother once had the world’s most beautiful penmanship. Now the writing on the envelope—Andrea Beckett—looked whiskery and shaky. It seemed that there were a hundred ways that I could miss her each day.
“What is this?” I asked.
My mom smiled at me with tears in her eyes. “Your dad found it in that carved wooden box on top of her dresser. She wrote one to each of us. Dad said there was a note with them, saying that the letters were to be given to us on our birthdays this year. Dad thought that since this was a special occasion, you should receive your letter early. I told him he was right.”
After she closed the door, I sat on my bed and opened the letter.
To my beautiful oldest granddaughter,
I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of the young woman you’ve become. You were my first grandchild and I couldn’t believe how perfect you were when I first held you. I still find you perfect now.
In your life, Andrea, you will hear a lot of talk about your future and what you should do with it. I want to tell you, Andrea, that those who tell you that the future is up to you are dishonest. The future is not always up to you. But those cynics who would tell you that the future is not up to you are also lying. What, then, is the truth? It is very complicated, as I have found in my eighty-plus years of living and as you have, no doubt, found in yours. I will do my best to tell you some of what I have discovered in the hopes that it will be of some help to you, my wonderful, beautiful granddaughter.
The truth is that your heart will be broken. People you love will die. Dreams you had will not work out the way you intended. People are capable of cruelty that will wound you deeply. At the end of your life, as I am finding, your body will be old and out of your control. This is if you are lucky. There are those to whom this happens when they are young, which to my mind is one of the saddest things that can happen. You will be scared. In the world in which you live, people will murder and degrade and hurt other people in ways that are incomprehensible to you. You will wake up in the middle of the night and feel a weight on your chest and in your soul that you don’t know if you can shake.
So what, you may ask, makes life worth living? There is so much, Andrea, that makes life worth living. I have known for years and still know that the gospel is true. Jesus Christ died for us and He and our Father in Heaven love us more than we can imagine. You will hear babies laugh. You will love people, and they will love you. One night, you will wake up and hear the quiet and you will feel peace. People are capable of kindness and goodness and they will show it to you and you will show it to them. You will learn things. Dreams that you have had will come true. Not all of them, but some of them. You will have moments of joy at just being alive that will fill your soul. You will have to decide if these things outweigh the others. It is my experience that they do. But you cannot be lazy. You cannot expect good to happen to you and think that you do not have to contribute.
Our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, once quoted a man named Jenkins Lloyd Jones as saying the following, which I believe to be very true:
“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is most putts don’t drop. Most beef is tough. Most children grow up to be just people. Most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration. Most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. . . .
“Life is like an old-time rail journey—delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed.
“The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”
I hope that some of the idealism and exhilaration you feel as a young woman stays with you forever. I hope that it is tempered and made more realistic by experiences you have. I hope that it is not destroyed but instead grows stronger and more resilient. I have confidence that you will walk your own path and create your own ripples in whatever pond you choose to swim. I have confidence that you will remember to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride and that you will appreciate those vistas around you because of the cinders you have endured so far.
But pay attention to those around you. Do not take your association with others lightly, without thinking about what effect you might cause. Don’t let this cripple you; let it empower you and make you think. You can’t do things only for other people; you also can’t do things only for yourself. It will ruin you either way. Your life is going to be wonderful if you embrace wonder and worthwhile if you embrace things that are of worth. Remember that one of those things is service, something I have learned again recently myself.
Andrea, I love you dearly and want you to know that I have confidence in you. I am very proud of you today and always. You have been a wonderful part of my “ride” here on this earth—and forever.
Your grandmother,
Anna Beckett
P.S. Please read Isaiah 40:31
I opened my scriptures and read the verse she recommended: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
At first, I didn’t know why Grandma had given me that scripture. Was it because I’m a runner and she thought it might speak to me? As I sat and reread the letter and the scripture, I began to understand what I needed to do to move forward with my talk and with my testimony. All I needed to do was rely on the Lord and take it one step at a time, maybe walking instead of running to begin with. I also needed to perform more service for others. Tutoring other students was a start, but I had years of selfishness behind me to erase. And maybe, if I truly waited upon the Lord, he would help me make that glorious transition, the one I’d always dreamed about—the transition from running to flying, from good to great, from believing to knowing.
It scared me. I bent my head to pray. Then I began to write my talk, keeping the scriptures and Grandma’s letter by my side.
After I was finished, I sat for a long while rereading the letter and looking at her signature, still beautiful even though it was not as steady as it once had been. I thought about those hands, shaking a little as she had gotten older, as they prepared me a snack of Hostess cupcakes and hot chocolate from her hot plate. Even though I could practically feel the sugar coursing through my veins, I still ate them and enjoyed the feeling of being taken care of and cherished.
One thing that surprises me about older people, living as they are at the end of their lives, is that most of them seem to be able to give a lot of time. You’d think they would be less generous with it, seeing as they might not have much left. But Grandma was willing to give me a great deal of time. We talked about many things—important things I didn’t even tell my parents or my best friends and silly things like who my favorite authors were or where I would like to live someday. I wasn’t trying to keep them a secret from other people; it’s only that no one else had the time to ask about them.
I find it especially appropriate that my grandmother gave me the gift of time. When she retired from teaching, the faculty and staff presented her with a beautiful clock. I have always thought of her as being similar to that clock. She had a beautiful, clear, bell-like voice, like the clock; she was exact and methodical in marking down those things that mattered to her; she was unhurried but full of motion.
One of the things that broke my heart after her death was finding her bird-watching notebook with each bird she’d sighted listed with the date and location of the sighting and her opinion of their song. It also was one of the things that made me laugh until tears ran down my face. I was skimming through all the annotations like, “Although a common birdsong, the robin’s is nonetheless one of the most beautiful, since I hear it and know that spring is here” and “The mockingbird’s mournful sound is a beautiful dirge,” when I came to the annotation abo
ut the blue jay: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that the song of a Stellar’s jay sounds like crud.” I never heard her use language like that in real life and it gave me a glimpse of someone I knew in a different, funnier light. I pointed it out to my father and he and I laughed until we cried. Now all I have to do is say, “It is a truth universally . . .” and he can’t keep a straight face. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a joke to share; I like to think of it as one of Grandma’s last gifts to us.
It was time. I could hear the very last strains of the musical number fading into nothing and silence taking its place after the applause. Principal Downing looked expectantly at me.
Grateful that my legs weren’t asleep anymore, I stood up and walked toward the podium. I was the last speaker and so the crowd was ready to be gone. The brief silence turned into a low murmur of talking. I didn’t mind because the heartbeat I could feel coursing through me would surely be picked up by the microphone and maybe the talking would cover that.
When I finally got to the podium, I stopped. I waited until the students became a little uncomfortable and stopped talking to one another and looked up at me. I unfolded my paper and began to speak. My voice, to my surprise, sounded like . . . my voice. Just a little louder and more powerful than usual.
“We are graduating today,” I said, “and I have thought many times about what you might like to hear and what I might like to say. I have decided that I would like to share with you part of a letter I received.”
I read the part of Grandma’s letter where she quoted Jenkins Lloyd Jones and then I discussed what we had all learned in the ride through high school. We’d learned things from our teachers—practical knowledge and more. We’d learned from Principal Downing and her fight with cancer and her discoveries from it. We’d learned from athletics and band and other activities. We had learned from our parents and from each other.
I read the last sentences of Grandma’s letter, changing them slightly to say, “Our teachers, families, and friends have confidence that we will walk our own paths and create our own ripples in whatever pond we choose to swim. It is my hope tonight that we can earn that confidence and instill it in others. I hope that we can all serve each other and those we meet, and that we can enjoy the ride of life and help others enjoy it as much as possible.” The walk back to my seat was much shorter than the walk to the podium.
I sat down as they applauded. I looked up at all the faces around me and stopped holding my breath and began to smile. It felt wonderful, even though I had tears in my eyes. It felt like flying.
Chapter 23
June
Yearbook Entries
From Tyler Cruz’s yearbook
Ty-
Next year will be awesome with you on the team. State Champs, baby!
Nic
P.S. Until then, I’ll waste you in practice.
Tyler—
I’m so glad you moved here from Phoenix. This year has been more than I could have ever imagined and you have been a great friend from that first meeting on the bus. It will be fun to watch you next year in the games. Also, thank you so much for coming to my baptism. I know that it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing for you to do, but I know you did it because you’re a real friend and you knew that it was important to me. Thank you for being so awesome.
Julie R.
•••
From Avery Matthews’s yearbook
Dear Avery—
It is always hard to write an entry to a student whose writing I, myself, admire. Your poetry has been thought-provoking; your work on the newspaper has been exceptional. I have associated with many good writers, a few great writers, and several who are that combination of great writer and interesting, refreshing person. You are one of those people and will go far. Even though I’m retiring this summer, I’ll be reading the newspaper next year with great interest. I am glad you have agreed to be one of the editors. Please continue writing as much and as often as you can.
Sincerely,
Mr. Thomas
Avery—
It will be weird to go to college and leave Lakeview and the newspaper behind—but I know I will live on in the red wagon. Take good care of her for me. (Maybe you could suggest naming it the SS Sherman. Or the SS Skipper. Run that by the new journalism teacher, will you?) I will see you around this summer for sure. Keep in touch.
Dave
•••
From Andrea Beckett’s yearbook
Hey,
I won’t get too nauseating here, but I want it documented in your yearbook that you are something else. It’s a good thing I can make you laugh or I think I would get thrown over for some handsome movie star when he finally heard about how beautiful you are. Or by some good-looking reincarnation of Steve Prefontaine when he heard about how fast you run. Or by a future president of the USA who heard about that mind of yours. But what they don’t know is that, as great as all of those things are, there’s even more to you. And that the most beautiful sound in the world is your laugh. Let’s laugh a lot this summer.
Dave
Dear Andrea,
You were a great tutor this year. I was nervous when I found out you were my tutor because I knew you were smart but then you turned out to be nice too and that was great. I did a lot better once you were my tutor. Good luck in college and with everything. I’m glad we’re going to keep in touch.
Sincerely,
Amy Walters
•••
From Ethan Beckett’s yearbook
Hey, little brother—
It’s so weird that this is the last day that we’ll be in high school together. At least we have this summer, right? It will be strange at college without you, but I’m trying not to think about that too much. Losing Grandma has made me think about our family, about all of us. I won’t give you another version of my valedictory speech here, but I love you and will miss you and I know you’re going to make Grandma very, very proud. I know she’s watching us.
I also wanted to tell you not to worry so much about everything. (It’s a lot easier to write this stuff than to say it—you know I have a problem with that. So I’d better write fast before I lose my nerve.) I know that you are trying hard to live right and be worthy, but as I’ve learned the hard way, we can’t control everything that happens to us, no matter how hard we try. That’s the great part about life—there are always going to be surprises—but that can be scary too, unless we rely on our testimonies and our faith. Maybe we will go on our missions at the same time! What a thought. I can’t imagine a better missionary than you.
I want to tell you something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. This year, at the State meet, when you won second place, I really learned something from you. You got more joy out of winning second than I did from winning first and I wondered what was wrong with you. How could you be so happy when you didn’t win? Later I realized that there was something wrong with me, not you. You were happy with your win because you knew you had run a good race and fought hard and because you loved what you did and because you cared about the team too. I won, but it was for all the wrong reasons—selfish reasons—and so I still wasn’t happy. I have a lot to learn from you in so many ways. I want to be more like you, living for others and fighting for the right thing for the right reasons. Thank you for being an example.
I love you.
Andrea
Dear Ethan,
What a year. I wonder what we’d say about each other if we had to write our autobiographies again next year. I’m very glad that we are still friends, that we are dating again, and most of all, that we have both grown so much this year. I think that I felt like I had grown up or something, like my testimony and my life were in perfect order. What I learned this year (what you helped teach me) is that it’s important to keep growing. Thank you for a wonderful year, Ethan.
Love, Mikey
•••
From Dave Sherman’s yearbook
Dave—
I wish I could tell you how I feel in person, but I’m taking the easy way out and writing it instead. You’re in love with Andrea. I can see why and I know it’s not just because of how beautiful she is, so I can live with it.
I wanted to come to church with you a lot of times, but I think I wanted to come for the wrong reasons. I wanted to come to be with you and not necessarily to find out the truth for its own sake. I think I will go next year when you’re away at college so that I know I’m going for the right reasons. I hope you understand. Tell those missionaries that you’re always talking about that I’m not ready yet, but maybe I will be. Just give me a little more time.
I hope this wasn’t too much honesty for you to handle and that we can still be friends. I wanted you to understand why I kept putting you off. You’ve been a great friend to me and I want to give this church of yours a fair chance. After all, you gave me a fair chance and it has meant a lot.
Avery
Dear David,
It’s been a pleasure to have you in journalism these past few years. I mean it. You have made me laugh many times when I truly needed a bit of levity. I appreciate your humor and I appreciate the warmth and kindness you show to other students even more. Good luck in the future. I would be interested to hear about your church assignment when you receive it.
Sincerely,
Mr. Thomas
Dear Dave,
You’re writing in my yearbook, so I know the deal is that I’m supposed to be writing in yours right now. But it’s hard to think of how to say what I want to say. You’ve always been better at this kind of thing—you can talk to anyone and make them laugh or smile. In fact, right now you’re sitting there writing and grinning away and now I’m smiling too, just from watching you. I guess that says it all. You bring a lot of happiness into my life and I love being with you.
Andrea
•••
From Mr. Thomas’s yearbook
Yearbook Page 21