100 years of you became 102 years of you.
102 years of you left behind a pile of birthday and Mother’s Day cards, excluding those from the Florida days.
Found in a bureau drawer.

Some were glittery, some were funny, some were cartoony, some were serious, some were from art museums, some were from the family, some were from me, some were.
She is no longer. She was outlived by paper.

When you find the things left behind you realize so much, it hits home: you really can’t take it with you. It’s all borrowed; everything you own. Anything you covet and get is only borrowed. Owning something is illusory. It exists and then it doesn’t: it gets given away, thrown into a closet, thrown out, by whomever finds it or is stuck with it.
It’s all momentary and the moments are getting shorter and shorter.

And some were sweet…

Others make you wonder where the recipient is now. And where you are going.

📌The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

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