The white envelope was laying on top of the snow and ice mound next to my letterbox at the end of my driveway. Most likely it had been dropped by the mail carrier as she tried to maneuver her truck close enough to the box. My headlights flashed over it as I returned home in the early morning hours before dawn and I almost dismissed it since most of the mail that comes to the street side is junk. For some reason I felt I should retrieve the envelope before it was buried by the slush of the plow trucks that would be coming through soon.
It was postmarked “Republique Francaise, La Poste, France” where I have distant relatives and it had been in transit for two months. The handwriting had that European charm I had seen in my grandparents writing and it carried me back to a time when I sat at my grandmother’s side as she wrote, in her lovely script, letters to family and friends in her homeland. Her mother, my great grandmother, had emigrated to America with her daughter and two sons after the death of her husband. I never knew my great grandmere but I felt as if I had know her from the stories told to me by my mother who adored her.
The letter in the snow read “Madame; this letter will be a surprise for you. I find in my mother’s home those photos. My mother was a friend to your grandmother, Josephine Vannson Chagnot before about 1912!! They write always until she dead. So I am 86 years old and I don’t want keep those photos. Maybe you will be glad to get them. This is your family. I hope your address is good, I find it on internet Google. If you receive this letter, please tell me. this is my address E-mail xxxxxxxx . sorry for my English but there is a long time I don’t speak English and I did not know if you speak French. Sincerely Regina, Eaubonne, France.”
This stranger, this new friend, this person who connected me to those I had loved so dearly, had sent me the treasured gift of photographs of my family, my grandmother and great grandmother as they were crossing from France to America in 1912. There were pictures of my grandparents’ wedding, great uncles, homes they had built, my parents and their newborn infant, my brother.
What Madame Parmentier could not have know is that some years ago, during a break-in at my home, the thieves had stolen not only things of monetary value but for some unknown reason, my box of treasured family photographs. The photos that arrived today are some of the only ones I now have, something to pass on to my own grandchildren to stretch the thread of family across the generations.
I am the last remaining member of my mother’s family. They have all died and I stay on as their memory keeper.
Tales of Liberty and lesser things 
April 11th, 2015 at 1:47 am
lovely
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April 11th, 2015 at 3:35 am
I really, really enjoyed this. It flows well, it keeps me suspenseful, and it has the start of a good fiction novel. The only thing I might add is review your first sentence. I think you could add a few commas, or perhaps break the sentence up as it seems like the person reading it cannot take a breath in the sentence to keep up with it.
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April 11th, 2015 at 12:57 pm
Thanks Lucy. I agree and will rework it
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April 11th, 2015 at 10:21 am
A lovely post. I always find myself wondering if it’s fiction or truth… of course you need not say, but the fact that I’m wondering means it’s a great vignette!
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April 11th, 2015 at 1:03 pm
It is a true event. It happened yesterday as I was returning from a business trip. As I said in my original posting comment, it was serendipity. I had been thinking about an entry to make but was floundering. I had been working hard all week, was very tired and nothing seemed to flow until…..
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April 11th, 2015 at 10:46 am
Very nicely done. I like your writing style.
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April 11th, 2015 at 1:03 pm
Thank you
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April 11th, 2015 at 3:29 pm
Dee, you have such a beautiful way to weave the story. I enjoyed reading it.
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April 11th, 2015 at 3:43 pm
Thank you for your kind words. I enjoy your blog, the heart to heart intimacy of the conversation
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April 11th, 2015 at 5:21 pm
What are the odds? Beautifully written, and I am so glad you got new photos after the old ones were stolen.
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April 12th, 2015 at 7:10 am
I felt it to be true when I read this post and thought that you conveyed the story really well! I agree that the first sentence could be broken down a little, but apart from that – its a lovely story which was brief enough to keep me captured until the end!
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April 12th, 2015 at 11:54 am
Thank you Hayley. I’m glad I was able to convey the authenticity of the letter.
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April 12th, 2015 at 12:16 pm
You certainly did 🙂 I enjoyed reading the letter out loud in my best French accent! It was very authentic (your post that is, I can’t say the same for my French accent!) Hehe
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April 12th, 2015 at 12:27 pm
LoL a gem of a comment!
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August 3rd, 2019 at 3:58 pm
excellent work
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August 3rd, 2019 at 5:47 pm
Thank you Kevin. I wonder if we are related???
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August 4th, 2019 at 9:24 pm
my father is Bruce Chagnot, and my Grandparents were George and Anna Chagnot
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August 5th, 2019 at 12:42 am
We are indeed related. Your Dad was my mom’s cousin. George was my grandfather Alfred’s older brother. I remember George, Anne and Bruce through my entire life. What a happy occasion to meet you.
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August 5th, 2019 at 1:53 pm
very nice to meet you too
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