It has been a while since I have written. Personal family crises have overwhelmed my energy so that I can only seem to get done exactly what needs to be done. One of my recent tasks has been helping to clean out my parent’s condo. I realize in retrospect that my mother had an entire room dedicated to caring for people. She had drawers filled with small gifts, wrapping paper and ribbons, and cards. Boxes and boxes of cards. For every occasion. I took many of them and may never have to buy a Halloween card again.
My mother is like that. She is kind. She remembers. There was a whole stack of cards just saying that someone matters, that she cares. I took those too, determined to distribute them, sometimes randomly and sometimes intentionally. I realized that I have a lot of people I love and think about, and I should tell them so.
Since my Dad’s death a few weeks ago I have been deeply moved by people who have reached out to me. Good friends have called, church members have been so generous. But what has struck me was how many people sent cards. I have loved each one. They have made me feel cared about and connected, like someone understood on some level what grief is about. People I never thought would reach out to me have made my day. Thank you if you are one of those people.
I also collected a small stack of sympathy cards from my mother’s collection. I suspect it has dwindled as she has had more reason to use them with age. I am quite determined to send them all and buy more. I have learned all over again what a difference a small kindness can make. I highly recommend it.