Because tomorrow isn’t promised 

This one has been pending for a while. As badly as I needed to share this, a part of me just doesn’t want to. I don’t like having to remember. I don’t like the feelings it drums up in my heart. But, because tomorrow isn’t promised, we must look beyond the now and set our sights on our real forever.

 As a little girl I remember very few things about my grandfather. But from what I do remember, he was one heck of a Durndee. I remember spending the night with them and him making me “coffee” in the morning; his special coffee. In my tiny little cup he would mix 10% coffee, 90 % milk, then add a little bit of sugar and it made it just right. Or better yet, our morning walks around their neighborhood and him holding my hand the whole way. I’ll also never forget him pouring a little more sugar in my corn flakes when Meme wasn’t looking.

If I close my eyes really tight I can somewhat still hear his voice, possibly even his laugh. I can still envision him sitting at their table on Sunday at Lunch, or playing “tennis” with him in the back yard. The day we lost him will be one that is forever burned into my heart. Alzheimer’s stole him from us at such a young age. I remember people coming to visit us, to offer their condolences and being so jealous of all their stories.

I can’t help but look back and think about all of the things we missed together. I can guarantee you he would have been sitting beside my Meme on the first row of ALL my basketball and volleyball games. Or better yet, standing up beside my dad as I rounded the last curve on the track. From watching me walking into prom, or walking across the stage at graduation, to even walking down the aisle. I am curious of the kind of relationship he would have had with Matt, and I so desperately wish I could watch him love on our girls.

I’d give anything for one more hug, or even one last letter. Life happens so quickly that often times we aren’t able to end things the way we may have intended to or better yet wanted to. As we are getting ready to celebrate Lenny’s first birthday I came across a video. The video was of a girl opening letters her family had written her on her first birthday. Seven of the people that had written her had passed on. This overwhelming feeling came over me and I decided that we have to do this for our girls. She was reading letters that her family had written special for her; and few of them were no longer here to tell her those things themselves.

How cool is that?

I immediately started texting all of our family members requesting a letter for each of our girls. We are going to start a box for them. For their first birthday we are going to ask that our family members bring a letter for each of them. A letter containing stories, wisdom, and prayers for their future. Each year there after, their father and I will keep contributing a letter to each of their boxes. In the event that we are not here to tell them ourselves; that they know just how much we loved and prayed for them.

To me, this first gift on a first birthday carries the weight of the world. A gift that can’t be bought; a gift that keeps on giving. What I would give to hold a letter, a letter from him, written just for me. Then maybe, just maybe heaven wouldn’t feel so far away.

For tomorrow isn’t promised, we must make the most of today.


Always loved and never forgotten. I hold you close to my heart, and I can’t wait to see you again. I love you Durndee.

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