Who doesn’t love mail? I’m talking about real
mail- not the magazines and bills and advertising postcards, but a card, a
package, an even more unexpected handwritten letter?! It is kind of a lost
art. I have been writing to a dear friend of mine for the past fifteen years. I
have written my last letter to her. Velma passed away a few weeks ago at 92. She
was a neighbor who lived across the street from us when I was in middle school.
Sadly, she lost her husband and both children years before I ever met her and
lived alone. My mom would send me over with food for her (that sums up my mom;
always taking care of others) and I would stay and visit with her- we would talk
about books as we shared a passion for reading- and she would want to know all
about the happenings of a teenager.
I called her and visited her only a
handful of times after I moved away so our
friendship blossomed more through the letters and photos we exchanged. Velma
would send pictures of her flowers and her beloved cat, Reggie, photos of her in
parades and at birthday parties. In the last few years I stopped getting letters
from her as it was hard for her to write. But I kept sending them. Because I
hoped they brightened her day, especially after she moved into a nursing home
and had to give up her dear cat, who was more of a friend or companion to her
than just a pet. I sent cards and photos of me traveling, running in races, my
first home, photos of our wedding, my adventures with my husband and then most
recently our daughter. All the while, I continued to write letters, filling her
in on my life as a college student, a young homeowner, my adventures in dating,
a new wife, a young mom. Separated in age by generations, our friendship grew as
we learned from each other, mostly through the letters.
I recently got a letter from an employee
at the nursing home that said “When we were going through Velma’s things, we
found these letters you have sent over the last many years. I figured you did
not get the notification that she had passed away.” I knew the news would come
eventually, but still was not prepared for it. I stood there in my kitchen,
stunned. In the last letter that she received from me, did I tell her how much
I appreciate her? Did she know just how much this friendship has meant to me? I
always make a point to tell people and more importantly show I value
them, but did I do enough?
I wish I would have saved the letters
Velma sent to me. I would have cherished them as much as she cherished mine. It
would also be interesting to read through the letters I sent her, recalling the
highs and lows in my life over the span of our friendship. I am sure they were
tossed out. The letters hold no value to anyone else. I will not be penning a
letter to Velma any longer. This makes me sad, but I will take the time instead
to write letters to the other people in my life that are special to me. I get so
caught up in life that I rarely take the time to do so. That time is now.
~Angela
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