Inside the card, she had drawn and coloured several hearts and wrote a special message.
Good and bad things can be said about being a hoarder. The bad – it’s almost impossible to find the one item you might be searching for; the good – after a long, tedious and tiring ing attempt, you’ll probably find it. I’ve kept a daily diary for over 50 years, each one a five-year diary, all saved in an old-looking cardboard box. Many’s the time dates needed to be found, land assessment, when we sold the farm, surgeries, births, deaths. Some were matters of mere curiosity, others to settle an argument.
Recently, an address was needed from the early ’60s. Moving one box at a time from the storage chest, I was determined to find it; I did. What I found before locating this battered little book now missing its cover was a bundle of greeting cards, some I recalled but many had faded from my memory. I had not forgotten the one made especially for me but I had not realized the thought and effort that went into this precious little creation. Our little girl, about seven at the time, had used small pieces from my stash of fabric scraps, cut, pasted and expressed her feelings. Inside the card, she had drawn and coloured several hearts and wrote a special message. Why was the room suddenly blurry? Why was I finding it so hard to swallow?
It took awhile to pack it all away again but I did it, all the time wishing and hoping that this same little girl now with children of her own, has inherited this “hoarding” gene. That one day when she least expects it, she’ll discover a handmade card from someone who has not yet learned to write – that says in colourful print – To A Wonderful Mom.
– Eva Krawchuk writes from Winnipeg