When I was young, my grandma gave me just one old postcard for my birthdays, and I’d frown and roll my eyes. I was 17 when she passed away. At 37, while visiting my childhood home, I found a jar containing all 17 postcards. Curious, I turned one over and froze. It wasn’t just a random postcard. Grandma had written a small poem about me, capturing specific moments from that year of my life—sweet observations and advice for my “future self.”
Each postcard was a treasure, filled with her love and wisdom. Unlike money or material things that fade, her words are a gift that will stay with me forever. I brought them home and hung them on my wall, where they remain my most cherished possessions.
Thank you, Granny Elizabeth. I love you.
