The card box

I have a box somewhere that contains almost all of the cards that J gave me in the years since we moved to Texas—and I can’t find it now.

I know where it was—on the bedroom floor, right next to my shoe rack. But when Amy came over when J was going into hospice, she did a drastic cleaning of my room.

She put stuff into boxes and so far, I’ve checked through two of the largest boxes and I can’t find the shoe box that contains the cards. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere but suddenly I really want to read them (especially the letter he wrote me the one year when we couldn’t afford gifts for each other.)

And come to think of it, I’ve never found where I put all the cards he wrote to me before we moved here, either. They’re probably in the attic somewhere but I can’t get up there on my own.

Suddenly, finding all those cards and letters from him is my #1 priority and I feel so helpless and lost without them.

“Helpless and lost” is actually a good way to describe how I’m feeling overall lately. The cards are very important to me, of course, and I suspect that I’m going to have Amy go through the attic when she comes over for my birthday this weekend.

But I really, really hope that I can find the card box of the more recent ones before then. I honestly feel just sick right now.

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