How To Love Me

My Baba (which means grandma in a language nobody in my family actually speaks now yet still randomly uses) sent me a card which arrived today. She’s not the type for sending a lot of mail. I think the last thing the postman delivered from her came about the time I graduated from law school. Anyway, she sent me a handkerchief which was blessed at a religious facility in a religious ceremony many years ago in a land far, far away (re: in Europe). But the funny thing is, my Grandma (the other one, who also happens to use words I don’t commonly associate with my vernacular, like great-grandchild) had sent it to her at some point. I know because the card said so and my Grandma’s original note was enclosed. Grandma sent it to bring comfort and Baba sent it in love. To be given that handkerchief, to know both my grandmothers have put a bit of their heart into it, means more than I can say. Somehow, it made the icky last few months just a tad bit better to know, when it really counts, I am loved.


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