A Letter to Nana

By Carol Wawrychuk

In 2004, thirty-five years after she died while a patient in a mental hospital in Las Vegas, New Mexico, Nana came to her granddaughter, Carol Wawrychuk, in a vision. "Take me home, Carol. Take me home." Little did Wawrychuk know those few words would take her on an odyssey that lasted two years and literally uncovered thousands of lost souls in a forgotten and eroding cemetery. Expecting to find a manicured cemetery with flowers and century old headstones, she instead found cement slabs with dates and names crudely etched by hand, mangled metal markers stamped with patient numbers and human remains that found their way to the surface. A Letter to Nana is not only about a cemetery cleanup, slicing through rolls of bureaucratic red tape, but it is a journey of Wawrychuk's reliance on God. In her quest to find Nana, she unintentionally uncovered skeletons in the closet and realized she had to free herself from her own barbed-wire fences. Through acceptance, redemption, courage and faith, Wawrychuk discovers the destination is the journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643005492

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A Letter to Nana

Carol Wawrychuk

ISBN 978-1-64300-548-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64300-549-2 (Digital)

Copyright © 2018 Carol Wawrychuk

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

The temperatures are rarely above freezing now in Santa Fe. Much the same as our winters in Erie, Pennsylvania. We just had our first snowfall, and I felt like a little girl again, letting the giant flakes melt on my face and outstretched arms. And you were there too, Nana. Although you’ve been gone for over forty years, you were there helping me with layers of insulation, keeping me warm.

You and I always did our best to take care of one another, didn’t we? I remember our conversations in your bedroom down the hall from mine. Those Sunday mornings together at Saint Paul’s. And, of course, our bus rides downtown. Vivid memories decades old. And yet they feel like yesterday.

Do you know how my life has gone so far, Nana? Have you seen the person your granddaughter has become? I was just shy of twenty-three when you died, so it doesn’t seem plausible you would know. But my heart tells me otherwise.

Do you know about the many times I forgot whose granddaughter I was? Those times I allowed others to define me—which meant I could never feel quite good enough. Well, now I’m hoping you’ll see how much better my life has become! It’s thanks to you, Nana. Because by rediscovering you, I found myself. Now I see myself as God sees me—most likely as you always saw me.

I’ve come out of hiding. Uncovered my strength. Stopped being afraid of family secrets and stopped pretending to be perfect. And while I suspect, somehow, you already know my story, I want to make sure you hear it all. So, Nana, here’s my story. It’s our story.

Chapter 1

FOR the first time in almost thirty-five years, I found myself back in New Mexico. As we stepped off the plane in Albuquerque, we were greeted by cold and wind. Last time I was here, I was attending high school. This time, I stood with Bill outside the airport waiting for our rental car.

Typical New Mexico, Bill said. Wind and dust everywhere.

The sky was gray and ominous. It was hard to tell if it was clouds or just dust particles in the air. I pulled on my gloves and zipped my heavy down jacket.

Let’s go down to Old Town for lunch. Some of the restaurants might be familiar once we get there. I wonder if they still make sopapillas? Do you remember I used to make those when we were first married? Take a bite off the end and pour honey inside while they are still nice and warm. Boy, they were good!

The thought of revisiting this city from my past was exciting for me. Not only would I find you, Nana, in a couple of days, in the meantime, I would go down memory lane.

Bill, when we’re done with lunch, I want to drive around. I’ll show you where I went to high school and where we lived. I should say the several places where we lived, I concluded with a slight touch of melancholy in my voice.

Of course, Bill knew what had happened to our family, how Albuquerque was where it ultimately unraveled. But I don’t think he really understood what it was like for me until this trip. Actually, I don’t think I was even aware of how much of an effect those high school years had on me.

Driving past Sandia High School, I was struck by my lack of concrete memories. Jeez, this all looks familiar, but I can’t remember ever being here. I don’t recall going to classes or being with a group of friends. I just have this incredible sadness.

I was looking forward to meeting Tom and his wife for dinner that night. Tom was an old college friend who had settled down in Albuquerque. Bill phoned him from the hotel room to confirm our meeting time.

Yeah, Carol’s grandmother died in the mental hospital in Las Vegas back in 1970. We’re here to see if we can find where she was buried.

I had been dozing, but became instantly alert at Bill’s divulging the reason for this trip to New Mexico.

What are you doing? I whispered rather loudly. He doesn’t need to know about that! You have no right to tell people without my permission.

I’m sorry, you’re right, Bill said as he hung up the phone. It’s not my place to tell about your nana. But Tom thinks it is an amazing thing you are doing. He is very supportive of your efforts.

Okay, let’s not fight, I answered, surprised at my anger. I think just being here takes me back to pretending everything is perfect. Must be something in the water, or more likely the wind.

I began to sense an immense dislike for Albuquerque, and maybe all of New Mexico. It was not my home; it had been a stopping-off place. The good times I had hoped to reconnect with were not here. In fact, this whole place shouted of lonely times.

It was here when the pendulum began its swing.

When I was a child, my parents made the decision to move here from Pennsylvania.

It was in Albuquerque where the view from my living room window was a driveway that led to the stark apartment complex parking lot, which was in sharp contrast to the green front yard of Hilltop Road in Erie. That was all my family could afford. With the move to New Mexico,