I always worried that someone would have to do this. I also knew it would be me. Older
brother Tony said, "You're the smartest, you'll know what to say." Smart ass Jack added,
"Just write the damn letter so we can all move on."

They ganged up on me, the only woman in the family. They always gave me the dirty work
to do. I knew they would and then just wash their hands of it.

I looked down at the blank paper before me. So white and pure. My thoughts were not of
what to write but of the sweet old lady who would receive this pernicious letter. A sweet
little old lady of meager means, a loving smile and a heart of gold. She had crocheted my
son Jason's first sky blue bootees and Amanda's pink ones.

The blank white paper now soiled with a tear of sadness and anger as I remember the
handfuls of candy at Halloween, the Christmas candy canes she would always give to us,
a tradition carried over to my children. Over the years, Mrs. Stevens had become part of
our family, more of a caretaker then a tenant of the small two bedroom Cape Cod house.
The home she has lived in for most of her adult life, always keeping it clean and tidy. I
worry, can I really do this? If I don't, my brothers will kill me.

A new sheet of paper waits on the desk for the words of pain to a sweet old lady. I try to
think of nasty things she had done to make the writing easier but can recall none. Oh my
God, she was the person I told about my first kiss at the junior high school dance and she
was first to hear about the boy putting his hand on my breast at the movies. And how
happy she was to come to my wedding. Can I really do this?

The white paper blurs as tears fill my eyes. The tears smudge the first few sentences. Again
I push the paper and pen away. How could my brothers have been so dumb and invest in
that Ponzi deal? Tens of thousand of dollars and now we have to kick her out of the only
home she has ever known because they need the money from the sale of the land.

I grabbed for the last piece of chocolate I had hid when I went on my diet. Taking a deep
breath I write, "Dear Mrs. Stevens, it is with remorse that I write....."

I place the stamp on the envelope, put on my old ski jacket and walk down the long driveway
to the mail box. I always enjoyed the walk, but not today. Is that rain on my face?
No, more tears. I reach the green mail box with the white letters of our last name painted on
by my son before leaving for college. I pull the door open and hope that the postman had
already come, but, no it has room for the letter.

Slamming the door shut, I turn and run back to the house. Inside I tear the letter up and toss
it in the trash. Pushing the buttons on my cell phone I wait to hear my husband's voice.

"Hello"

"Honey, it's me. You know that mother-in- law apartment in the basement?"