I have extolled the virtues of letters previously, but, until now, I have failed to relate the importance of cards. As I lie upon my futon I stare out at a sea of beautiful, imaginative, and ever-so –meaningful cards. They have been sent to me by friends and family to cheer me, to wish me a “Happy Mother’s Day”,” and just to remind me that, although I no longer walk about in the world, although I no longer teach or tend to ailing bodies as a practitioner of medicine, I still am remembered, cared for and about. They reinforce the meaning of my life.
Greeting cards have somehow become obsolete in many people’s minds – but not in mine. The beauty of a card surpasses any e-mail greeting that I have received, and the touch and feel of the paper on which they are printed imports a sense of permanence, a quality with which we seek to imbue our lives.
Amidst the expanse of cards lie a bouquet or two of flowers. Beauty writ in nature; beautiful thoughts recorded on paper. I am truly blessed and shall try, mo mater the physical pain I endure, to see the beauty of the pictures and words before me. For they are sent with love and truly received with love.
And isn’t that the most important message of all?