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One of my favourite things to do is go to the mailbox and see what goodies the box holds for the day. Hope springs eternal and I always imagine there’s going to be something in there that is life changing, or at least a day-brightener. A barrage of bank statements and advertising almost always greets me but once in a while, even in this day of texting and email, there will be a letter. It feels like gold to me, and I savor even the act of opening the envelope and taking out the folded paper inside.
When we were young and had moved away from family, my mom was a great and faithful letter-writer. She would put in bits of news about people I knew, respond to my last letter just the way I hoped she would, share her life with me, and make me somehow feel loved and appreciated in spite of the distance between us. I was careful to write her back every time, telling her funny stories about our two little boys and their latest escapades, and she always told me how much she loved it.
Now I’m the grandma and I eagerly wait for the emails from children far away. The pleasure of pressing “send and receive” and seeing the slight delay that indicates an email is arriving is every bit as delicious as going to the mail box. And I read them with as much pleasure as my mom used to read my hand written ones, I’m sure. But there’s a difference.
I have a box marked “sentiment” that I keep in the garage. Inside are various things I don’t want to part with, especially a few letters from my mom and sister who both died young of cancer. I’m not a saver and have thrown away many things over the years that I wish I had kept, but I did keep a few of their last letters and am so grateful now that I thought to set them aside. Taking them out every few years and getting that start of recognition at the familiar old handwriting is unfailingly a powerful, bitter sweet experience. Re-reading the expressions of emotion, fear, and faith held by these two precious women in my life takes me back to long forgotten emotions and inevitable brings me to tears. But they are good, refreshing tears and I box up the letters feeling somehow better and more deeply rooted in my own life.
Computer communication is wonderful and I wouldn’t give up for anything the pictures of my grandchildren sent quickly after a birthday party or Christmas celebration. I love it that I communicate more with my son in Korea than I ever did when he lived in our city. I wouldn’t change a thing about the surge in technological advancement that lets this happen, even if I could.
But I’m going to keep some of those journals I almost threw in the garbage. My children need they have something to discover after I pass on that will give them the opportunity to remember me in the same tangible way I remember my loved ones. Somehow, old emails just wouldn’t have the same impact.
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