I have written this letter to you more times than I am willing to admit; and I think that Grandma O’ is smiling down on us, knowing that her perfectionism still pulses through our veins without failure. But, the fact is that no matter how hard we try, we will never be perfect enough- at least not within our own eyes. 

I want to take you back to where I met you. There is a small place, just off a not so busy mile road, where the glow of lightning bugs illuminates our faces and where the melodies of song birds fill our ears. We spent many summer months here, sitting by the bon-fire and roasting marshmallows. 

I have only lived two lives so far. I think we learn something new about ourselves with each life. You have taught me the importance of life, and the inevitability of death. You see, Grandma, nature and life are beautiful because they aren’t perfect. Nature is beautiful because of its imperfection. Nature’s flaw is its inevitable death. Spring brings birth; Summer brings growth, Fall brings bounty; and Winter closes out the cycle by grief.

For our garden, it was just another spring. The death of winter was just passing over and you made sure that weeding was always before planting. You established that when we planted our saplings in the earth, no rogue pests would be allowed to kill our plants. We had kept that garden since I was little. It belonged to both of us; it was something we shared. We both felt the bounty of the harvest and we both felt the burden of failure.

I recall you telling me “Knee high by the fourth of July,'' whilst pointing at the corn seedlings we had just bought from the garden center located a little ways down the road. At that moment, you were teaching me the virtue of cultivation. Yes, while the sowing period is grueling and laborious, the bounty is just as worth the physical labor which we put in during the early stages. 

In the Spring, we weeded and planted; In the Summer, we fertilized and watered; In the Fall, we plucked and ate; and in the Winter, we mourned the harvest. I can remember being so excited after picking fresh strawberries off of our vines. Those little fucking things were always hard to grow because the birds would get at them, but we managed with some netting to keep them away. Eating one strawberry was worth the rest of the work we put into the garden. 

Winter is like grieving, Grandma. It is dark, and it is cold. It is like walking towards a light at the end of a tunnel but you never get closer to the light. Grief is something I think we have become tolerant to, Grandma. We have both faced loss at a young age, and for some reason or another we will never be able to escape the feelings of grief. Grief is not linear, there are some bad days and there are some good days. But in the end, when you are surrounded by people who love you, everything turns out to be okay. 

I know that everything will be okay. I know that it is okay not to be perfect. I know that nature is beautiful because it eventually dies. Thank you for teaching me so much about life. Thank you for teaching me how to enjoy nature. And thank you for being my best friend.