Hey everyone,
I never imagined I’d be here, pouring my heart out to the void of the internet, but I need to share something that’s been uncovered in the folds of my life, like a secret letter slipped between pages of a book, unnoticed for years.
Last week, my grandmother passed away. We were close, but there was always a distance in her eyes when she told me stories of our family, like she was shielding something. As I helped my mom sort through her belongings, we found the usual things — old jewelry, faded photographs, letters worn with time. But there was one item, almost dismissed, that held an unexpected weight: a small leather-bound journal wrapped in a piece of blue silk.
It was one of those old diaries, with yellowed pages and a lock that looked fragile with age. I opened it, feeling like I was intruding into something deeply personal. The pages were filled with sketches, notes, and short, scribbled entries. It was a glimpse into a world I never knew existed — my grandmother’s past. At the back of the diary was an envelope, old and fragile, with my name on it.
My heart raced as I opened it, pulling out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of a young woman, laughing, her eyes mirroring warmth and a kind of fearless joy. I didn’t recognize her, until I realized it was my grandmother. It was dated 1947, and on the back, in her delicate script, it read: “To my brave heart, always follow the stars.”
The letter was even more surprising. It was addressed to my grandfather, telling him of a journey she once took, one where she found a part of herself she had never acknowledged. My grandmother had fallen in love with a woman during the summer of 1947, a love affair kept secret from everyone. She wrote about the struggle, the pain of hiding, the fear of judgment in a time that was unforgiving.
I sat on the floor of her attic, the weight of her words pressing down onto my chest, wondering how this could be. I had known her as a woman deeply in love with my grandfather, their love evident in every shared glance. But now, here was another facet of her, one she had hidden, perhaps out of fear or necessity.
Reading her words — “I loved her, deeply, truly, but I was not brave enough to break the world for us” — told me so much about the quiet strength she bore. I realized that maybe it wasn’t just fear that kept this part of her hidden, but a desire to protect us all from a time and a world that was not ready for such truths.
This discovery has changed me. It’s like I’ve been given a pair of glasses that unveils everything I’ve ever known. She wrote, “Happiness isn’t found in the acceptance of others but in the acceptance of yourself.” Those words have stayed with me, resonating deeper than any sea.
I’ve always struggled with my identity, feeling like parts of myself needed to be hidden away because they wouldn’t fit the mold. But now, I find myself emboldened by her bravery, by the love she held and the secrets she bore. Her acceptance of who she was, even if it remained hidden to the world, was profound.
At her funeral, I placed the photograph back with her, beneath her hands, telling her silent form, “Thank you for showing me what it means to truly live.” I felt a peace then, a release of the pain I hadn’t realized I carried.
I wanted to share this here because maybe there’s someone else who feels the same way, who’s living a life that’s partly wrapped in shadows. Know that you’re not alone, and that even shadows can be beautiful if we learn to embrace them.
Thank you for reading, for being here, and for letting me share this part of my heart with you all.
Love,
Sarah