Our mail carrier left us a note yesterday in our mailbox.
Norma has delivered mail to our house for as long as I can remember. She leaves
friendly notes at Christmas and used to throw dog treats out of her mail truck
to our dogs.
I read Norma’s note, wishing my parents congratulations on
the quick sale of the house (and that it must have been my dad’s hard work on
the yard that caused it) and best of luck with their new adventure. Oh, and a
reminder that I hadn’t sent in a forwarding request yet.
I read Norma’s note. And I lost it.
Not just a few tears, but deep sobs. Red eyes and runny nose
included. The kind that cause hiccups. The kind that cause you to call your
husband and cry to him that you’re sad about the loss of your childhood home
and that – sob! – you ate two donuts today and a lot of chocolate. Seriously?
Does that really matter right now? ‘Course he didn’t understand a damn word you
said because you were crying too hard. And it was really too dumb to even
repeat.
The kind that, after you’re done, you take a huge breath and
it feels like the clearest, best breath you’ve ever taken.
It wasn’t necessarily the note's words that made me cry. It was the fact
that I was lucky enough to grow up in a place where nice mail ladies names Norma know your name.
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