Stories That Prove Family Is Life’s Deepest

My grandma would only give me one old postcard for my birthdays. I would

frown and roll my eyes. I was 17 when she di:ed. When I was 37,

I went to my childhood home and found a jar with her 17 postcards.

I turned one and froze. It was not just a random postcard. She had

written a small poem about me, filled with specific details from that

year of my life. Some were sweet little observations; others were pieces of advice for my “future self.”

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