My dearest Susan

I found an old box in storage when I was rummaging around looking for old pictures of my parents. I can’t remember what it was labeled as, but it was an enticing enough phrase to catch my attention. I brought it back up to my parent’s condo and opened it one evening when my dad was putting my mom to bed.

In the box were cards. Greeting cards from all occasions – your more traditional card-giving holidays like birthdays, Mother’s Day and Christmas, and your less traditional card-giving holidays like Halloween. They were all cards that my mom had collected over the years. Cards from me and my sister (mostly handmade), and cards from my dad.

The cards from my sister and I were adorable, of course. Rough sketches, lots of glitter and crazy colored construction paper. Sweet that she kept them, but more mundane – the traditional childhood craft.

But the cards from my dad.

Each card started out with an address like “My dearest Susan” or “My precious Susan.” Each had a reasonably long (and mostly indecipherable – my dad has horrible handwriting) personal note written in them, next to the standard and cheesy greeting card sentiment. They covered the span of years and of holidays, and the spectrum from comedic to heartfelt. I avoided reading the indecipherable personal notes, so as not to spy, and so as not to be grossed out by the mushy things my dad surely wrote.

And of course, as I sifted through these cards, I cried. It was so beautiful to see how much my parents love each other – my dad in giving so many cards and writing so many loving notes, and my mom in keeping every single one.

I talked to my dad about it afterwards. He said she kept all of his, and he kept all of hers. They each kept these mementos of their love throughout the years – simple and beautiful reminders of their commitment to one another.

So Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom and Dad. Thank you for teaching me how to love.