How Old Thank-You Cards Helped Me Remember When I Made a Difference

A tattered greeting card fell to the floor as I rummaged through the file cabinet. I opened the card to find a name I barely remembered along with a handwritten message. "Your class changed my life and that of my children." I held the card to my heart.

I retired after almost 40 years of teaching developmental psychology. Three years later, I'm still sorting through the remnants of that life I no longer live. There's constant pressure on older folks like me to empty our overstuffed file cabinets and closets: Declutter and downsize now to make life easier for those we leave behind. Fair enough. But it's not easy to decide what to keep when a full life generates so much.

The bulging folder labeled Thank-You Notes held messages from past students, former Cub Scouts, robotics team members and attendants from my children's weddings. My careful preservation of these long-yellowed pages would horrify a minimalist. Why would anyone keep this stuff for 30 years?

Now in my seventh decade, more of my life lies behind me than ahead. The questions I face at this stage would have been unimaginable to the young people who wrote those cards. Have I made a difference in the world? Could I pass into eternity tomorrow with no regrets?

For me, those carefully preserved thank-you notes held part of the answer. They revealed a past and a person I'd almost forgotten. Someone whose life was far from extraordinary but counted for something nonetheless.

One former student honored me with a special place in her life story. "Because you lent a sympathetic ear and helped me build confidence, you have become a part of my autobiography. You touch more people than you realize."

An alum who took my parenting class wrote, "Do you believe God puts people in our lives for a reason? I do, and I think He connected us because you have been a guiding light and source of inspiration for me."

Her words conjured memories of that intimate group of ten who enrolled in one of my first offerings of the course. I was raising two teenagers, and my students ranged from an expectant parent to an expectant grandparent. We found our way together — the eleven of us — guidance and inspiration flowing generously in both directions.

My most treasured card came from one of my children's friends who spent much time with our family. He wrote, "You helped raise me and I hope I make you proud." (He did, and still does.)

Most of the messages came from young people still figuring out who they wanted to be, how they wanted to live their lives. A few were in the early stages of building their families and careers. I, on the other hand, have already traversed that territory. My future requires hindsight and foresight in equal measure, making peace with the past as well as finding new purpose.

The senders of those thank-you notes are helping me to meet that challenge by showing me the sum of the moments I was too busy or unaware to notice at the time.

Most of the cards I saved were handwritten in script as distinctive as the writers' personalities — some soft and rounded, others jagged or bold. A few asked me to excuse messy scribbles — a request that inevitably elicits a smile. I reconnect with the senders and our shared past each time I run my fingers across their words. As poet John Donne wrote, "Letters mingle souls."

Interestingly, not one of the preserved notes referenced a gift I had purchased. No mention of wedding registries, baby clothes or holiday presents. Instead, the cards emphasized our relationship to one another. Although I cannot go back in time to express my gratitude to the writers of these messages, I can preserve their words to remind myself all our lives made a difference.

My parents died much too young, leaving behind a pile of unsorted possessions — the way people do when called away unexpectedly. Over time, my siblings and I divvied and donated the meager lot with few exceptions.

One of the treasures I preserved was a letter from our local hospital's director of nursing expressing how difficult it was to accept my mother's resignation due to cancer.

"You operated your department efficiently and always made every effort to meet the Hospital and Nursing Units' demands. This is no small task. More important than the efficiencies is your rapport with your personnel. They truly love you and would willingly complete any task required. This quality may not be replaceable."

The letter has no monetary value. But I have held it close for 45 years because it tells me everything I want to remember about a part of my mom's life I rarely saw. She was a respected and revered leader at work. Her work made the hospital a better place. I come from people who mattered. My children and grandchildren come from people who mattered.

So, tidy up, declutter and downsize all you want but think twice before discarding the mementos that tell us who we are. Thank-you notes, love letters, friendship cards and even handwritten recipes from loved ones bridge us to the people and moments that make up our lives.

How many other possessions are as adept at lifting our hearts and revealing our legacies while we are living them?