My grandma would only give me one old postcard for my birthdays.

I would frown and roll my eyes.

I was 17 when she di:ed. 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 actually

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.