The Art of Letter Writing

My mother was a letter writer.  I say was because even though she is still with me, she can no longer use her hands for writing.  She wrote all the way up to the time she couldn’t.  Computers were not her thing, so all of her correspondence was done by hand.

She had cards for every occasion and pretty blank cards for her own words.  Each written note was a treasure.  Not because the words were poetic, but because the words were full of kindness. 

If you sent my mom a card or letter, you would receive one in return.  She kept a list of each letter she wrote, the date and who received it.  It wasn’t a list on a pad or in a notebook, but it was a stack of sticky notes, continuing with one on top of the other.

After her most recent move, I helped her unpack and arrange her room.  Her ‘room’ is a place that is hers and holds her memories and what she feels is most precious to her.  She displays family photos, knick-knacks from a lifetime of collecting and things that have no meaning to anyone but her.  Among her things, I came across a large collection of blank cards and envelopes, waiting to be used, but those that will not be used by her hand.  I also found stacks of her sticky note lists, lists dating back over 25 years.  There were names of family and friends, my name and my children included.

My mom has many treasures that she has not wanted to part with, treasures that keep her memories alive.  And now I have treasures, notes written by her hand and my name on a list.