I spent the day reviewing letter, photos, organizing old papers that hold my family history. I enjoy the research involved and want my children and grandchildren to know the stories of who came before them and to whom they owe so much.
When I held my great grandfather's letters to my great grandmother and read his words, saw his hand writing, I realized what a gift I held. He was a writer, a poet and an early newspaper man. He traveled where the Chicago Record, the World-Herald (Omaha) and the Nebraska Watchman sent him. And he missed his wife and small children.
I was moved holding the papers he held in 1894, 1895, 1896 looking at his hand writing and sketches he drew for his two children. I have photos of him. I went back in time. I fest a connection.
Today we email. Twitter. Instagram. Quick
Connects us with speed.
But I have nothing to hold, reread, analyze the handwriting of.
My great grandfather used a typewriter for a letter to his wife and apologized that the emotion he felt could not come through the typed words.
I am not sharing rocket science here. Pick up you pen. Find a piece of paper and write your dearest, your children, your parents, your friends. That's a gift that keeps on giving and others will savor.