I have about 200 thank you cards to write. This is not an exaggeration. I might actually be underestimating. Probably closer to 250.
I don’t know when I’m going to get to them. Sometimes I think — just one a day! A vitamin…! I’ve got this…! Then the day passes, without one being done. And so the next day, and the next, and the next.
Please don’t think me an asshole. If you sent a gift, we got it. We got SO MANY gifts. The FedEx and UPS trucks have taken residence in front of our house. The postman and I have become good friends. When a day passes that some gift – or card – or token of love doesn’t appear on our doorstep — frankly, it has come to seem rather odd. For months now, you have all been showering us with gifts. Gifts because we got a house, got married, got a baby. It’s been overwhelming. As if I wasn’t overwhelmed enough with the acquisition of all these things, then people piled on their well-wishing via gift-giving.
I’m not complaining. When a package appears, it is always Christmas morning, and I am six years old. I make a mess of the tape. I throw the packing slip or tissue paper aside, desperate to see what is inside. I squeal, I shake my head, I hold the item close to my heart and close my eyes.
Your kindness has not fallen into ungrateful hands.
But…if the thank you card I owe you doesn’t come next week, or next month…or if I miss you completely in the mass of thanks I have to give, please forgive me. I want to believe that you must know me…that my gratitude is everywhere. It lives in my body, now. It seeps out when I’m walking, as I greet others, in the gifts I now give. It has changed who I am. Frankly, I didn’t know people loved love so much. I thought we kind of resented it, or mistrusted it, or were too caught up in our own lives to care.
You have proven me wrong.
I will never be the same. Not just because I got a house, got married and got a baby. Because within all the kitchen bowls, the pillows, the baby clothes…I felt your love. I felt loved. So loved. Thank you for that.