"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart." ~Phyllis Theroux

I still have them all, stored away in a box on a shelf in my closet. They range from the dates of September 1986 through December 1987. Some are cards commemorating holidays like Christmas. Most, though, are letters written in blue ink on light blue stationery. This box - these hand-written memories - are the thoughts that flowed from the pen of a handsome young man who lived in a different city as we exchanged our hearts through correspondence. His penmanship wasn't the best, but I didn't care. The letters between us ended because we moved in together as husband and wife. However, we really got to know each other through those letters. I treasure them still. 

Another box in another closet contains various other letters. Some are from my Granny. She would write to me after I got married and moved away. Most of those letters contain news of family and friends, things that happened that week in my hometown, a running commentary on the weather, and Granny's latest maladies, all written in her enviably beautiful script. She invariably ended those letters by telling me how much she missed me, and how she hoped I could come visit her soon. They were simply signed, "Love, Granny." 

That box also contains one letter from my daddy. As best I can remember, it is the only letter he ever wrote to me. I had asked him for some Bible class material, and he had gathered it up to mail to me, enclosing a letter. It's short - only a paragraph - written in his unique, choppy longhand. He ends it with, "I'm proud of you. Love, Pop." As I read those words in his handwriting, I can hear his voice. I will never be able to part with that small notepad-sized penciled letter - a tangible piece of him.

In addition to those, I have other various letters I've saved through the years from friends. Each one contains an undeniable link to the personality of the writer - each one's distinctive scrawl. They also all speak to the uniqueness of each relationship. 

I love handwritten letters. I always have. My first experience with this came in fourth grade when I was assigned a pen pal in Leeds, England. My childhood correspondence soon grew to include my first and best friend from next-door who moved away. I wish I still had some of those letters!

Unfortunately, hand-written correspondence has pretty much become a thing of the past. Replaced by more efficient high-tech methods, most people would think it's crazy to hand-write a letter when you can communicate instantaneously through email, text messages, and social media instant messaging. Why would I "waste my time" in that way? I can think of lots of reasons...

Only a handwritten letter shows the true emotion of the writer. When I hold a letter, I feel a connection with the author, observing the familiar curves of their script, the smudges on the paper, perhaps even a stain of coffee or chocolate that trickled onto the composition during its creation. I can visualize the writer sitting on their couch, or perhaps at their desk, thinking of me while sharing their thoughts. Then, imagining them thoughtfully folding the stationery, placing it (along with some of their very essence in the DNA that it contains) in an envelope on which they write my name and address, then sending it to me. That's certainly more special and personal than any text emoticon can ever hope to be.

This week, I received the most precious letter ever. When I retrieved the mail from our box on Tuesday, I saw an envelope that immediately made me smile. It was addressed to "Mimi and Pappy," and the return address sender was "Lydia." Her mommy had helped her write the addresses, but everything else was pure Lydia. I opened it carefully, pulled out a letter to Pappy and handed it to him, then sat down to consume a letter that began with, "Dear Mimi,". It was simple, written in a right-handed six-year-old Kindergarten print. But, oh, how special. Two short sentences, but a letter I will treasure always.

It makes my heart happy to think of this new stage of life with my oldest grandchild. We converse through FaceTime weekly, but to now be able to correspond with her adds another layer to our bond. What Lydia (and my other grandchildren) don't know yet is that I've been writing to them since before they were born. Each one has their own journal where I correspond with them on a regular basis. (I did this same thing for my children.) Someday, I will give them their "Letters from Mimi," where they can read and learn about our unique journeys together as Mimi/grandchildren. 

Until then, I will relish the letters that arrive in my mailbox, joyfully answering each one with a return post. I hope they will bring the same sense of joy that has been brought to me. Now I must put away this impersonal keyboard - I have a letter to write.