Birthdays used to be thrilling for me as a youngster, but not in the way most kids would think. In contrast to my peers, who would receive brand-new games, toys, or money from their family, my grandma had a very different custom. One tattered postcard was always given to me by her every year. I didn’t understand why she picked such a basic, outdated gift at first. I would scowl, roll my eyes, and stifle it without giving it much thought since I was craving something glitzier or more costly. Since I was a youngster, emotive mementos were frequently eclipsed in my imagination by the appeal of shiny, new items.
I believed that the custom of sending birthday cards had become outdated by the time I turned 17. I had no clue that those straightforward postcards, which I had previously disregarded and ignored, would turn become some of my most treasured memories when she passed away soon after that last birthday.
Let’s fast-forward twenty years. When I visited my boyhood home at the age of 37, I somehow ended up searching through old boxes hidden in the attic. In the forgotten relics of my childhood I discovered a jar. When I opened it out of curiosity, I was shocked to see 17 vintage postcards. My grandmother had given me these postcards for each of my birthdays when I was younger, so these weren’t just ordinary postcards.
I took one out, and my breath stuck in my throat as I turned it over. It wasn’t only an ordinary card. Grandma had put something on each one of them. It was a tiny poem with a few remarks on my life that year. Her handwriting, a lovely script that seemed to contain more than just paper and ink, was recognisable. Despite the length of time she had been gone, it felt like she was there.
Instead of lengthy letters or lofty assertions, the poetry were brief, straightforward verses. “I noticed you’ve been practicing your piano more; keep at it,” or “You still love to read by the window, and that makes me smile,” were some of the sweetest tiny insights about my personality that only she would have observed. Others included sensible and insightful guidance for my “future self”: “Don’t be afraid to take risks,” “Remember, it’s okay to feel lost sometimes; just keep moving forward,” or “Trust in your heart, even when others don’t understand you.”
I sat in the silence of that attic, reading each postcard with wonder and tears clouding my vision. She seemed to have anticipated my need for her words, insight, and affection as I grew older. No amount of cash or material presents could ever fully replace the postcards’ theme, which had always been about her heart, her mind, and her comprehension of me.
It dawned on me then what I had been missing for years. When I was younger, I was let down by the postcards’ simplicity, but now they are the most priceless presents I could have ever had. If Grandma had given me cash or tangible presents, they would have deteriorated over time due to usage, time, or other circumstances. However, her words—her affection, observations, and thoughts—were timeless. Far beyond any material possession, they would always be with me and never change.
I had a great sense of thankfulness as I read the last postcard. I never would have imagined how much those simple notes had meant. They allowed her to stay in touch with me over time and leave me a legacy that would help me in my hour of need. In addition to being souvenirs of my early years, the postcards were a part of a relationship that lasted long after she passed away. Her love and concern for me were evident in their presence.
I knew I had to keep the postcards near after finding them. I brought them home with care and placed them on my wall with awe. The framed pieces served as a constant reminder of her affection and the value of focussing on life’s little, apparently unimportant details. These days, they rank among my most cherished belongings.
In addition to being bits of paper, the postcards serve as memories of the important things in life, windows into my history, and echoes of a grandmother’s love. They represent a legacy of knowledge, love, and an enduring connection that will last the rest of my life; they are more than just birthday presents.
In retrospect, I am incredibly thankful. When I was younger, I wish I had realised the actual worth of those postcards. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to fully comprehend them at that moment, though. We learn lessons from life when we’re ready for them. As I now display them on my wall and think back on each year that has gone by, I am struck by how fortunate I am to have had a grandma who was concerned enough to leave me such a sentimental present. The thought, care, and love that went into every word she wrote on the postcard were more valuable than the postcard itself.
I’m grateful, Granny Elizabeth. You have my love. I will carry your words in my heart, just as you did, and they will remain with me forever.
