My Mother has very distinctive handwriting. Everyone recognizes Mom's writing. I think that Mom's handwriting was one of the first hints I had, as a kid, about Santa's helpers.
Because of the second grade teacher and artist part of her personality, her penmanship has always been very important.
When I sent out letters to Mom's friends, letting them know of her new address, many said their interest was piqued the minute they saw the envelope. The return address label was from her, but the writing of their name and address wasn't in Mom's unique script.
When we moved Mom into her new apartment, I made sure she had stationary, cards, note paper, thank you cards, birthday cards, envelopes, and her address book; so she could write to people and tell them her news. I gave her mailing envelopes so she could send those children's history books to the little cousins on the other side of the world. Last week I brought her a box of Christmas cards. I brought her the 'lap desk' she uses when she writes from the bed or the sofa.
All this remains untouched. She is not writing letters. She is not sending cards.
You will not get a thank you note for the lovely bouquet of flowers. You will not get a thank you card for the books and dvd you sent her. You will not be getting a birthday card or Christmas card. You will not be receiving any mail from Mom.
I think putting pen to paper frustrates her. "I'll do it later." she tells me.
Just watching her write a check or a birthday card this autumn was a frustrating and difficult task. I don't think she'll be writing any more letters.
What prompted this blog post? I was flipping through my recipes and found my Mother's handwriting; her neat, beautiful, unique handwriting. Another part of her that has gone.