My Mom and the Lost Art of Letter-Writing

My family treated me to a lovely brunch at Mon Ami Gabi yesterday afternoon. Not only a Mother's Day treat for me, but for Katie, too, who is an incredible, loving mama to her two little ones. I was spoiled with lovely cards - a few sentimental, one tear inducing and one with spot-on humor, and sweet gifts, too. My husband even bought me this. Funny how he seems to be getting more romantic after 27+ years together. But he also bought me this, and then later admitted it was only because I really wanted one to vacuum the dog hair off the sofa. He said it doesn't really count as a Mother's Day gift. He's right, I would have bought it - or one like it - anyway.



My parents on their wedding day,
Oct. 12, 1946



I thought a lot about my own mother yesterday. I love her so much and marvel at what an incredible woman she is and always has been. People can hardly believe she is 88 years old. She lives on her own (I do worry about that sometimes), drives herself around town to shop, to go to doctor's appointments, or to the hair salon, and to church every week. She is stylish, artistic, creative, an awesome cook and has a flair for decorating. She is loquacious and fun. These traits she has passed on, like precious gifts, to her children - my brothers and sisters and me. Between the seven of us, we all share some aspect of our mother's talents, her out-going personality (not me) and most importantly her deep faith in God. She calls me Honey Bunny and reminds me that I live too far away.

I know that, sweet Mama. I know. But you remain in my heart always.



Mom with my brothers, Paul & Jim



I am grateful for the convenience and immediacy that cell phones provide, allowing us to chat often and sometimes for hour long spells in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. But part of me misses composing lengthy letters to her filled with anecdotal sketches of my days with kids in tow. I miss, too, finding letters from her in my mailbox, those deliciously perfumed infused musings about the latest family news and those darling xoxo's at the end of each note. We do send greeting cards including brief, peronal notes, or copies of recipes, or newspaper clippings to one another, but much too seldom. We have allowed e-mail to rob us of ... well, perhaps of the permanence and purposefulness that letter-writing affords. E-mail tends to be comprised of brief, little snippets here and there (albeit friendly and loving, too). Letter-writing takes time and effort. Our letters, our thoughts and feelings, can be tied up with string and kept in shoe boxes and visited for years to come - even long after we have left this earthly life.



Mom and her kids, June 2010



There's something to be said, too, about a person's penmanship. My mother's is beautiful, careful and belongs to her alone. It is as unique to her as the color and shape of her eyes or the way she laughs. I sometimes run my finger over her carefully inked words sensing her presence in some peculiar way, although we are separated by over 400 miles. You see, it's not just what she writes that stirs me, but how her words look; how they flow across the page in smooth, precise, old-Catholic-school-girl strokes. E-mail, texting and chatting via social media does not and cannot satisfy my need to sense my mother's (or anyone's) presence. Electronic messages can be deleted at the push of a button, a click of the mouse, or the touch of a finger, disappearing forever into the black hole of cyberspace. (If it's true that messages can be retrieved long after hitting the delete forever button, I'm certainly not tech savvy enough to know how to do it.)

As I've been typing this post, I keep thinking about the movie, "You've Got Mail" and how Meg Ryan's character, Kathleen Kelly, describes how electrifying it is to see and hear those titular words pop up on her computer screen announcing that messages have been delivered to her inbox (and now with smartphones and tablets, you don't even need a laptop or desktop  - my how we've evolved in 15 years!). Yet, how exciting is it to walk down the driveway to the mailbox, open it up and see that there is a real, honest-to-goodness letter waiting there? You've got mail! Real mail, to see and to touch and to smell. And to read again and again until you tuck it away in a shoebox for safe-keeping, so that someday your grandchildren will be given a marvelous treasure, a piece of their great-grandmother's heart to see and to feel and to ponder.

My mom and I will continue to communicate via all our sundry electronic devises. I'm not ready to throw them out the window just yet! Admittedly, I would miss our phone conversations and the ability to share photographs instantaneously or to type a quick, "Hello, I miss you." But one of these days I will dig out that lovely stationery from the box I've been storing in my closet, find a pen that feels just right and sit down to write my mother a long, detailed missive about my day or week. And maybe she'll read the words in my not-so-perfect penmanship and sense that a part of me is there with her, sitting comfy-cozy on the sofa next to her. And maybe I'll include a favorite new recipe, or a picture from a magazine of new chair I'd like to buy for my living room , or perhaps even a real photograph of her great-grandchildren.

Great Gramma Bea and baby Isaac, June 2010