Dear Ms. Burnett:
I must admit that I am quite surprised to be writing you
at this stage of my life. I would
consider any kind of letter written to you today to be about 40 years late. You
see, I idolized you as a boy and never missed The Carol Burnett Show.
Without fail, every Saturday night at 10 o’clock, I sat perched in front
of the TV in my pajamas and laughed myself silly. There was something about you that made me
feel warm inside. I wanted you to be my
mother, my best friend, and – yes – even my wife. I guess even a boy of 8 can dream.
But the reason I am writing this letter to you is not
because of what you did for me as a child, but rather what you’ve apparently
done for my father today. You see, my
father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s several years ago. He’s 74 now and has digressed to the point of
relying on my mother for constant care.
He still recognizes and knows his family, but everything else in my
father’s past seems to have been forgotten.
At night, while sitting in my parents’ dining room, he tells my mother
that he needs to go home. Sometimes, he
tells my mother that after dinner, they should go visit her mother. But he does not remember that my grandmother
died in 1987. We’ll show him photos of
places and people and he looks at them with blank stares. We wonder what he’s thinking, probably as
much as he wonders himself.
I was visiting my parents over the 2013 Thanksgiving
holiday. While my parents and I were
watching TV in the living room, I channel surfed and came upon the broadcast of
your receiving the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor at the Kennedy Center
(congratulations, by the way!). My
father, who had been sitting quietly as usual, seemed to spring to life when
your face appeared on the television.
“Ha!”, he laughed.
“My God, there’s your girlfriend.” I sat dumbfounded for a second and could only
mutter something like, “yeah, there she is”.
And then my dad looked at me and said, “Do you still love her like you
used to?” And I said, “Yeah, Dad, I
still love her.”
My mother and I simply looked at each other in
astonishment. "Like you used to?" This wonderful, sad man –
whose life has completely slipped away from him, robbing him of sacred and
treasured memories by the millions – remembered you; not because of what you meant to him, but because of what you meant to his
son. "Like you used to?" It was a moment I will never
forget. There’s
no explaining how or why he’s been able to cling to this particular memory, but
I thank God that he has. How grateful I
am to you.
I know you read your fan mail. And I hope this eventually finds its way to
you because you should know what you’ve given to me and my family. I guess all I can say is thank you for being
you. And thank you for what you did for
me as a child, and what you’ve done for me today.
May God forever bless you.
Now click HERE to read Ms. Burnett's response.
Now click HERE to read Ms. Burnett's response.
