I have always been terrible at writing thank you notes. I have the best intentions/fantasies of writing the most perfect, timely, and touching note in return for every kind gesture I receive. My thank you note anxiety is so severe that I am often thrown into the bowels of guilt because I receive a thank you note from someone so promptly that I wallow in the memory of all my unwritten notes through the years. I find comfortable excuses (I can't spell, I have messy handwriting, I don't have stamps) to wrap around me for awhile. Yet, these wear thin and the guilt always finds a way in through the crevices of my threadbare excuses.
I now have a large green box full of notes for me to write.
It stares at me from the chair by our door.
For almost a week it has sat mocking me for the task that I have left of undone.
But my heart is afraid of opening that big green box for it was the box that the funeral director handed me as he walked out the door after my mom's funeral.
These are no ordinary notes. These notes represent my mother, who took thank you notes very seriously. What can I say to our/ my/ her/ their friends and family that poured out so much love to us through meals, flowers, cards, calls, and visits. What can I say to those who drove up to my parent’s house in those final days to say their goodbyes to our Lela but were thoughtful enough in their own pain to take care of us?
I am afraid of that big green box because I know when I open it my heart will break.
I am left to write the thank you notes for my mother who always wrote them so well.
I will do my best.
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