Cards. As children they were little more than a hinderance; one more thing between you and the gift in the wrapping. Your parents told you to read the card because someone wanted to speak to you through it, so you begrudgingly glanced at it, knowing exactly how long your parents expected you to look at it from years of trial and error.
Alright. Maybe you weren’t such an ungrateful shit as a kid. But me, I was just that shallow. I am ashamed to say that some of that shallowness carried over to my adulthood.
What’s so special about a card anyway? Someone went out and bought someone else’s words, signed their name to it, and gave it to you.
Being sick gave me a little different perspective on the whole greeting card phenomenon. I got cards in the mail. In hindsight, I suppose I kind of expected some of them, but when I received each card I was both touched and surprised. Each card seemed more than just a grocery store impulse buy. It represented a name and a person whom I hadn’t thought of in a while (feeling sick being foremost on my mind). It was a reminder that no matter how low of an opinion I had of myself, there was someone out there who was thinking of my well-being… if only for a moment. It reminded me of my friends.
Between the cards, the emails, the phone calls, the gifts, and the visits, there are a lot of people I need to thank. It all has meant more to me than they may know.