My grandma used to give me just one old postcard for my birthdays. I’d sigh and roll my eyes. She passed away when I was 17.
Years later, when I was 37, I visited my childhood home and discovered a jar filled with 17 postcards she had saved. I opened one and froze. It wasn’t just any postcard — she had written a little poem about me, including specific memories from that year. Some lines were sweet little notes, others were advice meant for my “future self.”
That’s when I understood: those postcards were the most meaningful gift I could have ever received. If she’d given me money or things, they would have been gone long ago. But her words? They’ll stay with me forever.
I brought them home and displayed them on my wall. Now, they’re some of my most cherished treasures. Thank you, Granny Elizabeth… I love you.
