My mother saved everything.
When I was growing up and, into my young adult years, I teased her about this unmercifully - to the point of berating her, probably. I can remember being, what I would now describe as, awful to her. Fortunately, I realized this early on in my adult years and spent years apologizing to her.
She was the classic mom. She loved me no matter what. With her I could be mad, sad, glad - you name the emotion and she would listen - no matter the time of day or night. In fact, I'll bet I was one of those kids that are described as 'if she would have been first, she would have been last!'
Anyway, from time to time, as I go through boxes from my storage room, I find treasures that my mother saved. It has become very apparent, over the years, that my mother saved nearly every letter or postcard that I ever mailed home. As I come across these bits of correspondence, it is as if I've been transported back across a time warp to my college years and beyond. In college, I wrote home on a regular basis, sometimes more than once a week, I see. Reading my writing brings my college experience back to me in living color. I don't know if I'll keep all this material once I've read it now, but it is as if my mom is perched on my shoulder saying, "See. This is why I saved it. I'm still with you." It is like reading my life history from a period of time.
Kind of comforting, in a weird way.
Thanks, Mom.
Ancora Imparo
