A Valentine Tribute

Valentine's Day is the greeting card holiday. From the time in elementary school while you waited beside your white paper bag carefully decorated with pink and red construction paper hearts for everyone in the class to walk by and drop in the Flintstones, Dinosaur or Barbie valentine card, to standing in front of your locker in high school just hoping that there would be a Valentine card pushed through the air slots, greeting cards are synonomous with Valentine's Day. Greeting cards go beyond that in my family. In fact, they have always had a special place in our family. My mother was always the 'card queen'; she had a greeting and note card stash that rivaled any store. She would say, “I just like my friends, and my family to know I'm thinking about them. Everybody likes to get a card.”

If there was an occasion, you could count on a card from her. She never forgot a birthday, or an anniversary, but she didn't stop there. She sent not only Valentine's Day cards, but also Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas cards. She sent new baby cards, graduation cards, get well cards, and sympathy cards. Those were just the ordinary cards.

The ones you looked for in the mailbox were the special cards. She seemed to have a sixth sense. Magically, when you most needed it, a card would suddenly appear with a note written in her flowery, curled, uniform Palmer handwriting using her own unique abbreviations. Sometimes she abbreviated so many words her sentiments had to be deciphered as if reading a secret code, but you always felt better after you made the effort. She used those special cards to acknowledge milestones, send encouragement, and sustain friendships.

My father confined his greeting cards purchases to the ones he bought for my mother. As a child I used to carefully handle those cards from him to her. They were always the prettiest, the most elaborate and they were always signed “With love, your Bill” You could see the care and effort he expended in picking them. I can close my eyes and imagine him standing in his dirty work clothes at the end of a long day pondering the greeting card rack while carefully selecting the perfect card. I discovered his card hiding place when I was about ten. I was helping him clean his pick-up truck. My part of the job was to clean the interior. When I opened the glove box to straighten it out, I found a card for my mother still in its small paper sack. He just smiled, and said, “Don't tell, now.”

From the vantage point of adulthood, I've realized that due to tight money, there were years in which birthday gifts, or sometimes even Christmas gifts just weren't part of those celebrations between my parents. But there were always, always beautiful cards expressing their love for one another.

Cards in our household said, “I love you.” “I'm thinking of you.” “I hurt for you.” “I'm proud of you.” “You're cherished.” “I appreciate you.” “You'll get through this.” All received cards were always given a place of honor on the top of the television for weeks after they came. Pictures that had been slipped into the cards were carefully propped up. As a teenager I used to think the television commercials and programs advertising greeting cards must have been made with my family, particularly my mother, in mind.

A few months after her 60^th wedding anniversary, my mother suddenly died leaving behind my father who was deeply mired in dementia. It fell to my husband and I to close down my parent's lives. There was a house to empty, clean up and sell. This was a sad and difficult time. There was so much stuff to go through – 50 years worth accumulated in the house they had scrimped and saved to buy in 1957.

I was so tired that day of 'going through' and 'cleaning out'. There was only 1100 square feet and a one car garage to deal with, but there was a lot of cleverly built storage all full of things. It just seemed like endless tasks lay ahead of me. I opened a closet door to see a half dozen cardboard boxes neatly stacked in the back corner. Sighing, I pulled the top one open having no idea what they contained.

As I pulled back the flap of the first box, I stood there stunned. My mother had saved every card she had received from the time she was first married in 1947 right up to the last card given to her – a 2007 Valentine's card from me. I found in those neatly stacked boxes, sixty years of love returned to her in those cards. It was a chronicle of love that wound throughout her life, and encircled her friends and family down through the years. “Mother, thanks for........” “Jo, if it hadn't been for you.....” “Honey, I'll always love you......” There were happy birthdays and merry Christmases as well as other deeply personal and touching cards that had been sent to her. Amazingly, when my father became too ill with dementia to actually go out and buy her an anniversary or birthday card, she recycled earlier cards he had given her. That way, he could continue to participate in the deeply loving ritual between the two of them. I sat there for hours reading those cards smiling, crying, and laughing. It was the most unique eulogy I've every had the privilege to witness.

Even though my mother was 80 years old at the time of her death, it took me the better part of two days on the telephone to notify all her friends of her passing. I heard stories and learned things about her I had never known as I made those calls. And I heard over and over again, “I'm so going to miss your mother's cards. It's just not going to seem the same without your mother's cards.” What was really being said was, I'm going to miss your mother's love. She sent some out with every card she mailed, and that love sustained, nurtured, rejoiced and encouraged. I found the returned love in those boxes. It was humbling and marvelous and moving. My mother passed almost five years ago, but when milestones occur, I still find myself looking for her cards.

I learned to send cards early. I know because I found those cards in my mother's boxes. I've realized I got not only my eyes from my mother, but I also caught on to the idea that you can send love via the mailbox, and you can receive it too. Just as my mother's boxes were unknown to me, I, too, have my secret boxes. They are full of my cards. They go back to 1969, and continue to the present day further unwinding that ribbon of love my mother started. Yes, cards are important in my family. That tradition continues......... I wonder if my daughter has her secret boxes.