My 68 y.o. grandma wrote in the family chat asking for money

purse lies open on the bed. I spot a stack of cards, rubber-banded together. I sit down, gently pulling them free.

They’re all birthday cards. Some old, yellowing, others more recent. All for me.

She never missed a year. She kept every card she sent me — the carbon copies she wrote and saved just to remember what she said. And on top, one she never mailed:continue reading …