My grandma would only give me one old postcard for my birthdays. I would frown and roll my eyes. I was 17 when she died.
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 actual, 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. Check below !!
