I am not ashamed to admit that I am one of those people who keep birthday cards and any other items I think I will want to look back on one day.

A few weeks ago, I found myself needing to add some recently received cards to my “memory box.” It had been quite some time since I had gone through the box, but something told me to take a dive through. As I began to sift through the box, I could not help but feel incredibly blessed.

Everything in the box, whether it be a card from when I turned 13 or a card from when I graduated college, had me reflecting on how far I have come and all the people who helped me along the way.

My mom is the most beautiful card writer to ever exist. I always look forward to getting a card from her because her words are so special and are guaranteed to tug at my heartstrings. But it’s not just those long, sentimental kind of cards that mean a lot to me. It’s the cards from my Nonna, who still to this day signs my Poppy’s name even though he left us in 2006. It’s the cards from my Uncle Joey, who struggled to be able to write after having a stroke but always found a way to simply write “Love, Uncle Joe.” Or the card I found from my Uncle John, “happy whatever’s day kid. Love, Uncle John.” My Poppy and my uncles may not be physically here any longer, but they are still very much here. They have inevitably shaped the person I am today, and the person I continue to evolve into.

For the first time in a while, for a few moments after I had gone through that box, I had no worries at all. I felt weightless and free, thankful to just be in the moment.

I am blessed and thankful that I have my memory box to remind me of it.


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