Stuff

I have enough of it.

Stuff.

Just this morning, I donated six garbage bags to my local ARC.

Good stuff.

Sellable stuff.

Stuff I no longer need.

When I was younger, I wanted things.

Now, I want memories.

They take up less space, and for the most part, I think I can take those with me.

Or at least I hope to. (Fingers crossed!)

Earlier this month, I told someone to write to their loved one instead of buying a gift for the special occasion.

“But I’m not a good writer,” she said.

“It doesn’t have to be grammatically correct,” I told her.

“It just needs to be true.”

Don’t text.

Don’t email.

Write it.

I learned the power of the written word early on.

Years before I was born, my mother lived in Louisiana, and her mother lived in California.

There were no cell phones then, and long-distance calls were expensive, so they wrote letters.

Years of letters!

My grandmother died young, in her forties.

For decades afterward, my mother reread her letters.

The letters were her mama's voice on paper.

My grandmother’s beautiful penmanship brought her thoughts to life, 

and my mother’s tears stained every page.

Every. Page.

The letters weren’t full of grand wisdom or sentimental speeches.

Just daily happenings and family gossip.

Yet they carried her through the nights she missed her mother most.

They were my mother's treasure.

And now they’re mine.

They rest in my cedar chest, where they mingle with my collection of keepsakes.

It turns out, many of my most valued possessions are also the words of others.

Go figure.

So, the next time you celebrate someone, especially someone who may be a bit older and wiser, sure, buy them a “little something” if you must.

But also consider writing to them.

Tell them what they mean to you.

Tell them how they make your life better.

I promise they’ll keep that note forever.

And your words will live long after that “little something” is discarded, donated, and/or forgotten.