We have all been there. We receive handwritten notes from loved ones in the mail but never get around to reading them because they are so easily forgotten in a stack of other papers on a desk or dresser. But this is not the case with handwritten notes. They have often treasured pieces of paper that have been carefully thought out and written down for someone who they care deeply about, despite how many years it has been since they were last seen or spoken to. In this blog post, we will discuss handwritten notes and their benefits when sending them to people you care about!

Each morning, she’d place a note with the salami sandwich, the carrots, the apple juice, and the cloth napkin my friends mocked me for making. Even before I went to high school, the notes were still there. I was a bit ashamed of them at that time, but not enough to tell her not to take them and not enough to refrain from reading them. They were just as dependable as the ham and cheese sandwich I ate earlier.

I always knew how much she adored me.

My previous relationship began to fall apart in a tangled mess at the start of my thirties. I recall telling my ex: Love is a verb, not a noun. I’m still certain about it. Love does not stand there, inert, supporting the entire endeavor without putting in any effort; it is demonstrated on a daily basis. Here’s a cup of coffee. Let me massage your shoulders for you. I’m so delighted to see you.

The Buddhist teacher recently told me a story about a grandchild who asked her grandfather, with whom she spent a much time, whether he loved her. “Of course I love you!” he exclaimed, clearly taken aback. “Why do you ask?” “Well,” the youngster sighed, “it’s just that I don’t feel it when you’re not paying attention to me.” This was the particular way in which this youngster experienced her grandpa’s love. It was evident throughout my mother’s notes. Some people experience it when a buddy sends a loving text or a spouse takes a dog for a walk at the end of the day. There are so many ways to make love into a verb; it’s endless and delightful.

I’ve begun slipping notes into my daughter’s lunchbox just as it appears that my own mother is fading away from me. We’d often talk to her on FaceTime earlier in the epidemic, but these daily encounters are no longer a part of our routine. I’m sure she doesn’t want to interrupt my days, which are suddenly crowded and hectic again, with her being across the continent in a different time zone. And I’m sure she doesn’t want to call or email me, and she can’t leave me notes on the bed anymore. Since my home was lost in the fire, I haven’t been back for almost two years, and the house I knew has already been sold. Also, because she doesn’t know everything there is to know anymore, she can’t possibly remember all of the most minute events of a life spent together. Nothing more can be said about the size of a lunch message now that nothing can be said about it.

So, I wrote to Noa, thinking of my own mother: Have a great time on the MONKEY BARS! Enjoy your PICKLES! Good luck with your SPELLING TEST! Each sentence was intended to demonstrate that she is seen, heard, and appreciated every day.

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