When I was 21, I planned my wedding for November. My mother unexpectedly died in September. That meant the month between the two was filled with the hardest grief of my life and a barrage of thank you notes asking for my attention. They felt brutal to write. I am a creative at heart, but my creativity had no patience for this obligation, even if I was sometimes overcome with gratitude for how our circle had held us in our most raw of times. I was all used up. And yet, I did the thing. When the wedding was over and the dust settled on the new pile of thank yous, printed by the same local print shop, I recoiled. I couldn’t. A wound had been opened that I just didn’t know how to move beyond. Even now, when I bump up against that wound, it sits with me at the page and whispers its mantra of “you-just-can’t”. Sometimes I am able to move the pen along the edges of the wound, carving away at it out of sheer must-do. Sometimes I give in to it and move away from the page, leaving it with the pile of regret that still has a bit of sting tucked inside. Although it took me decades to understand my relationship with thank you notes, it hasn’t made the task any easier. I am beginning to talk more openly about where the wound came from and its effect on my life. Perhaps some day it will lose its power. That is surely something I could be thankful for. (Thank YOU for the invitation to contemplate this small but mighty ritual.)
Great article Sarah! I am so thankful you remember having to write thank yous and are passing that task on to Stanley! I loved his thank you and I know one day he will be appreciative of you making him write thank yous! Mom
When I was 21, I planned my wedding for November. My mother unexpectedly died in September. That meant the month between the two was filled with the hardest grief of my life and a barrage of thank you notes asking for my attention. They felt brutal to write. I am a creative at heart, but my creativity had no patience for this obligation, even if I was sometimes overcome with gratitude for how our circle had held us in our most raw of times. I was all used up. And yet, I did the thing. When the wedding was over and the dust settled on the new pile of thank yous, printed by the same local print shop, I recoiled. I couldn’t. A wound had been opened that I just didn’t know how to move beyond. Even now, when I bump up against that wound, it sits with me at the page and whispers its mantra of “you-just-can’t”. Sometimes I am able to move the pen along the edges of the wound, carving away at it out of sheer must-do. Sometimes I give in to it and move away from the page, leaving it with the pile of regret that still has a bit of sting tucked inside. Although it took me decades to understand my relationship with thank you notes, it hasn’t made the task any easier. I am beginning to talk more openly about where the wound came from and its effect on my life. Perhaps some day it will lose its power. That is surely something I could be thankful for. (Thank YOU for the invitation to contemplate this small but mighty ritual.)
Great article Sarah! I am so thankful you remember having to write thank yous and are passing that task on to Stanley! I loved his thank you and I know one day he will be appreciative of you making him write thank yous! Mom
Both of our girls purchased laptops with their graduation money. I made them finish writing their thank yous before they opened their laptops. 🤪