Dear Allen,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance I should have. Before we had even met, I resented you. In all honesty I would have resented anyone in your position. Six months after my grandfather’s death, and there you were, putting a ring around my grandmother’s finger. I felt like I was missing something, that it couldn’t have possibly been that short of a time because everyone seemed so happy for you two while my grandfather didn’t even have a headstone yet. How could someone possibly replace the father of their children so quickly? And yet, she did.

So maybe in actuality it was my grandmother, your now wife, I was harboring anger for. After all, she was the one who didn’t shed a tear at the funeral, who blatantly held your hand on top of the dinner table the first time we met. It felt like she was rubbing it in our faces, as if to say, “I’ve moved on and so should you.” But I didn’t. And I still haven’t. However, I see the good in you now. I see that she started her mourning three years before any of us knew he was dying and that you were simply there to pick up the pieces. It’s always such a mouthful to explain to people that I’m going to visit my grandmother and her husband. Perhaps I should have started this letter differently. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to sooner.

Love, 

Your Granddaughter