Sympathy Cards

Canada Post has delivered more sympathy to my house recently than anything else, I got another card in the mail just yesterday – three and a half months after his passing. The card was lovely, the sentiment was sincere and the post mark was from half way around the world – the sorriness was probably felt a while ago. 

Comfort arrives with a sympathy card, condolences, a sense that someone out there feels for you.  But it’s painful at the same time – a fresh reminder.  The messages are heartfelt and beautiful. And heartbreaking.  I have a box full of sympathy and lovely messages and I’m going to save them – but I can’t say why. 

We have several copies of his obituary in the box and the guest book from the funeral. I saved the cards that came with the flowers and the extra copies of the slide show we made.  There are copies of all the speeches people gave, thoughtful stories about a well loved man. The box is packed full of sadness, the lid will hardly close. 

I’m guessing it’s human nature to want to save this sort of thing but I doubt I will ever look in the box again once I stash it in a closet. It will probably sit in the dark and collect the dust of passing years before someone opens it and has their heart broken anew.  Maybe they will sift through the cards and remember, perhaps vaguely recalling the senders of the cards and flowers, but vividly remembering the man. I imagine fresh tears on aging cheeks.

All the cards, all the messages and speeches were such a testament to the man he was. An outpouring of love.  They document the footprint he made on the planet, on the hearts of everyone who loved him. They are a physical reminder of the emotions that inspired the words, and I feel the need to save them.  If I never look at them again, I will know the weight of what is stored in that box and I will cherish the sentiment forever.