I was cleaning out my grandmother’s desk today, trying to organize her files after her passing. In one drawer, I discovered it was overflowing with cards—birthday, anniversary, and all kinds of greetings she had saved over the years.
Halfway through the stack, I noticed one envelope with my name on it. At first, I thought nothing of it since she often reused envelopes. But this one was sealed. Curious, I opened it and found a birthday card meant for me on my 17th birthday—six years ago. And here I was, holding it just a week after my first birthday without her.
I laughed at the odd timing, but tears quickly followed as I read the words she had written. She told me her love began the moment she learned my mother was expecting me. She wrote that she and my grandfather had loved me for 17 years and would continue to love me even after they were gone.
Her words broke me. We had a complicated relationship, especially during my high school years. Yet this card proved her love was infinite, just as she said.
I cried hard, realizing how much I needed that reminder. She always believed loved ones send messages when they are most needed.
Coming out of my first birthday without her and heading into our first Christmas apart, I truly did need to hear those words.
That card was more than paper—it was a message across time, a reminder that her love still surrounds me.
