I said goodbye to my grandparents' house this weekend. Thankfully, I still have Gram for a little while. Her hearing may be gone, and her hugs may be sharper, but her spirit and humor are still alive and well.
It's hard to process that soon, the little white house on Leith Street will no longer be ours to enjoy, to be comforted by, to come home to. As I helped to clear out her house, I devoured 65-years-worth of photos (complete with negatives, organized by year in shoeboxes). I relished dozens of Christmases, birthday cakes, neighborhood parties, home improvement projects, and card games. All within the four walls of that little house.
I took a few things from the house - some Tiger figurines (Gram loves African animals), the old clock that hung above Gramps' tool bench, Grams' baby book. They are just things, but things that reminded me of those I knew and loved.
One of those things, though, gave me a bigger gift - a chance to get to know-and-love someone whom my Grams knew-and-loved, my great-grandfather, Howard J. Good. Tucked away in the attic, my aunt found Howard's letters from a hundred years ago. They were written to his parents during his time in the service during World War I.
Howard passed away during Grams' first semester of college. That meant he never got to meet his son-in-law, grandchildren, or great-children. Yet, as I begin to read these letters, I hope to get a chance to know him and love him too.
Stay tuned to this site - as I read each letter, I'll post it here, providing as little non-expert commentary as I can muster. Enjoy!
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