My grandma would only give me one old postcard for my birthdays. I would frown and roll my eyes. I was 17 when she di:ed. When I was 37, I went to my childhood home and found a jar with her 17 postcards. I turned one and froze. It was not just a random postcard. She had written a small poem about me, filled with specific details from that year of my life. Some were sweet little observations; others were pieces of advice for my “future self.”
I realized those were actually the most precious gift that I could’ve ever hoped for. If she had given me money or material things, they’d be long gone by now. But her words? They’ll stay with me forever. I took them home and hung them on my wall. Now, they’re one of my most treasured possessions. Thank you, Granny Elizabeth… I love you.
Story 1
My dad used to leave lunch notes in my backpack. After he passed, I found one stuck deep in an old pocket: “You’ve got this. Love, Dad.” I cried like it was the first time I lost him all over again.
Story 2
When I got sick in college, my brother drove six hours just to bring me my favorite soup. He didn’t stay long—just enough to check on me, hand over the soup, and say, “Text me when you feel human again.”
Story 3
After my parents’ divorce, my little sister would sneak into my bed at night, whispering, “We’re still a team, right?” Every time, I’d nod and hold her hand until she fell asleep.
Story 4
My grandma taught me how to sew. When she passed, I found a quilt she’d started for me, with a note pinned to it: “Finish this when you’re ready. I’ll be proud either way.” I still haven’t finished it—but I will.
Story 5
My son, 5, saw me crying once and quietly put his stuffed lion in my lap. “He’s brave. He can help,” he said. That lion sits on my desk now, just in case.
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