Last year my grandma gave me a big envelope, the contents bulging. “What is it?” I looked in.
“It’s cards and letters,” she said. “I don’t want my kids having to clean things up,” she said in her no-nonsense way as I pulled out a card. They were written to her from me when I was a kid. I looked through it a bit when I got home, but feeling melancholy I put it in my box of mementos.
But last week I was tidying the shelf that had the box of old photos and keepsakes and this unmarked envelope rose to my attention.
There it was: everything I ever wrote to her. I sat on the floor and read every one. There were lots of thank you notes and chatty letters, postcards from travel, some get well cards, my birth and graduation announcements she had kept. I felt sentimental and happy she had saved them.