My grandma had this odd little tradition: every year on my birthday, she would give me just one old postcard. No toys, no gadgets, no money—just a postcard.
As a kid, I would frown and roll my eyes. I remember thinking, Why can’t she be like other grandmas? Even as I grew into my teens, I didn’t understand. My friends got sneakers, watches, even cash. Me? A single faded card with some neat cursive on the back.
She never explained. She would just smile softly, pat my hand, and say,
“Someday, you’ll see.”
I was 17 when she passed away. It broke me in ways I couldn’t describe, but after the funeral, life moved on. The postcards stayed tucked away in drawers and boxes, half-forgotten, because I never thought they were anything more than a quirky habit of hers.
Two decades later, when I was 37, I went back to my childhood home to help clear out some old things. In the attic, hidden in an old biscuit tin, I found a jar filled with those postcards—seventeen in total, one for each year she’d been alive during my birthdays.
Out of curiosity, I took one at random and flipped it over.
I froze.
It wasn’t just a generic greeting. On that card, written in her careful handwriting, was a short poem about me—specific details from that year of my life.
A mention of how I’d struggled with math but never gave up. A line about how my laugh made her whole week brighter. A gentle note reminding me that heartbreaks, even at sixteen, don’t last forever.
I sat there on the dusty attic floor, reading card after card, and the tears wouldn’t stop. Each one carried a fragment of her heart, her wisdom, her love—sealed in time.
In that moment, I realized these postcards were the greatest gift I could have ever received. If she had given me money or things, they’d be long gone by now. But her words? Her words will outlive everything.
I took them all home, framed them, and hung them on my wall. Every day I glance at them, and it feels like she’s still here, cheering me on.
Thank you, Granny Elizabeth… I finally understand. And I love you more than words can say.
