I have seen some comments and posts come across on Facebook and the webs about remembering what Memorial Day is all about. Reminders that this day ISN’T about the beach or barbecues, that it ISN’T about beers and hotdogs, that is ISN’T about getting an extra day off work, or having a three-day weekend to go camping. It’s  supposed to be about remembering those who died in the many wars our country has fought, honoring them and their sacrifice for our freedom. And I agree . . . kind of.

I hope that today everyone is enjoying themselves to their very fullest. I hope that those who love parties and barbecues are doing just that. I hope the beaches are packed with skimpily clothed people and that sandcastles are being built and beers are being popped open. I hope that people are camping and hiking or staying at home and working in their yards, putting in that new garden. I hope that people are at baseball games or maybe watching old war movies on TV, and  I hope that everyone is filled with laughter and joy and good food and are surrounded by love. Because THAT is what so many people died protecting and defending. THAT freedom to just go about your day enjoying all the moments no matter what those moments look like to each person. The white stones that line up in our cemeteries, the white crosses that cover fields in France and other European countries, the bones of those never found that lay in far away places, all belong to people, men and women, that died so that we can live such  free and open lives. I am sure that none of them wanted to die, but they made a choice, a decision to sign a contract, one that could take them far from home and possibly into the line of fire. Many gladly walked into those recruiting offices, especially after the attacks on Pearl Harbor in 1941 and again after the attacks of September 11, 2001. They knew they were going to face the enemy head to head. They knew there was a chance they may not be coming home. And they went just the same.

I like to think that all these men and women would want us to be living full, happy, joyful, productive, love-filled lives. They would want us to fully grasp and embrace the preciousness of this life we are so fortunate to live in our country. They would want us to go to the beach and the mountains or into our own backyards or the local parks and have fun! They would want us to laugh and run and play and relax and be able to do all those things without fear. I doubt that anyone on this holiday weekend worried about being attacked by bombs or a marauding army. I am pretty sure that most people didn’t get up and peek through their shuttered window to see if it was safe to go outside. Instead, we rose out of bed and maybe went out for a nice breakfast or loaded up the car to go to the park for a picnic and lawn darts or maybe got in a boat to go fishing or water skiing. And I am pretty sure that doing all these things is EXACTLY what those soldiers who lay in both marked and unmarked graves would want us to do.

I do hope that at some point today you stop for a moment and think about some of those people that never came home or if they did come home they came home in a box. I hope you will send a quick thank you out into the heavens and the universe and then I hope you go back to your barbecue or your beach party. I hope you will fill this day with amazing memories and that you create unforgettable moments that honor those who died. Because if we truly want to honor them we will do that by living grand lives, and we will bask in our freedoms, we will do good and kind things for each other, and we will love deeply. We will make sure that if there is some way for all of them to see all of us on this day, they will see us laughing, eating, living and loving every inch of our lives. And they will know that what they gave will have not been in vain.

Snail Mail. That is the title of the art piece above and while working on this art piece I started thinking about how important it can be to send a handwritten letter to someone, especially one that says ‘thank you’.
We no longer live in the age of letter writing and it is fast becoming a lost art. People send texts or emails or make a quick call but we really don’t write letters to each other anymore. I am as guilty of this crime as anyone else. And it’s sad.

Back in the 90’s I wrote letters to my Dad who was living in Pincher Creek, Canada. We exchanged letters almost every other week and now that he is gone I am so grateful for those written words, his written words that I can still hold in my hands. They are a visual reminder of our relationship, they carry the tone and cadence of our conversations, and they are treasures to me. They hold our affection for each other and demonstrate the growth of our sometimes troubled alliance. I am grateful that he came from that era of letter writing and enjoyed expressing himself through those letters.

My older brother Tim was often a troubled soul and he did 6 years in prison for drug related crimes. It was heartbreaking for me but he was literally my captive audience in terms of letter writing. We wrote back and forth over those 6 years and I have saved those exchanges. His letters were often filled with anger and frustration, feelings of persecution, resentment, and also hope for something better. He lamented the life he once thought he would have, felt great sorrow for never having married or had children. I was his sounding board, his voice of encouragement over those six years, often sending him funny comics or jokes that I found. I am not sure if any of my words carried any weight in keeping him grounded during his time in prison but they helped to ground me. Tim is now gone too, his death affected me greatly but I have his written words that reflect his broken soul and his struggles to find a peace that alluded him his whole life.  There is something comforting in re-reading them as it reconnects me to a much loved brother that was not mine to save. But that was long ago and I haven’t really written a true letter or note card in many years.

My friend Julie is very much alive and she sends cards out to her family and friends all the time, for every holiday, for every occasion. I want to be more like her but continue to find that the ease of texting or emailing or calling lures me from the pen and paper. I love getting her cards because they are the only thing in the mail box that isn’t shaped like a bill or a circular mailer. They aren’t junk. They are Julie. She has an address book that is filled with names and addresses of all her friends and since she and I have been friends since high school I imagine she has crossed out my address over and over and re-written it again and again as I moved around throughout the years. She understands the importance of writing even a quick note and mailing it off for someone to find in their mail box . A jewel from Julie. Every card she has ever sent me is in a special box that holds all the letters, cards, and notes that I have ever received from friends and family. I imagine myself as an old shut-in someday in the far future, just sitting by a warm fire with this box, pulling out all these words from my life and letting them cover me like a memory filled blanket. I am grateful for every word mailed to me. Julie’s words will still be there just as they were the day I opened her cards. And they will be there long after she and I are gone.

I am not too old to change. This year I intend to start writing note cards again and sending them to the people who are still here to receive them. Remembering to say thank you, to actually write the words to friends, family, clients, and perhaps even the person that delivers these letters, seems to be a way to truly feel gratitude. Technology is truly a blessing at times. Being able to quickly say thanks or hello can be a lifesaver in a busy, buzzing world. But there is and never will be anything as special as picking up your mail to find your name handwritten on the front of an envelope with a return address from someone you love. The excitement of opening that envelope is so overwhelming that you can hardly wait to get back to your car or in your door to break it open and read the words that another person has taken the time to write FOR YOU and TO YOU.

The art of writing letters is hopefully not on its death bed. Especially in terms of saying thank you to the people who are woven into our lives either through relation or through work. And when we say thank you to our clients with a handwritten note it states that we had time for them in that moment and we didn’t just think if them and then type out a quick email. We thought of them and valued them enough to take the time to put pen to paper, to lick an envelope, to carefully place a stamp, and to mail away to them our gratitude.

Now, where did I put my pen . . .