The Story Of a Pen Pal

Hand written notes have always made connection more personal. As a kid, if I didn’t have a thank you note in the mail box 10 minutes after the birthday party was over, my mom would give me the raised eyebrow look. In today’s world with the ease of text or email, we tend to express gratitude, support, or sympathy through rapidly moving fingers across a miniature key pad. Make no mistake, when in the midst of all of life’s experiences, texts or emails are an appreciated outreach. Connection in any way is always a good thing.

Yet, there is something special about a written note. The extra effort to find a card and gather thoughts enough to bring cohesiveness of pen to paper distinguishes a message; making it a feel extra heartfelt or intentional. I mean, who doesn’t like to open a mailbox and find a hand-addressed envelope with a Forever postage stamp.

This brings me to my point.

Over the past year, I’ve developed a very special pen-pal relationship where weekly hand written notes are sent and received the old fashioned way; via postal service. You could call my pen-pal relationship unlikely; and quite honestly, I wish it didn’t even exist. My son, Ben has known Josh for over 20 years. They’ve been cohesive friends since high school, and along with the ole’ gang, have called themselves the “Columbros,” since forever. While I’m a 63 year old grandmother writing about this and that, Josh is a young man who has found himself smack dab in the middle of a very uninvited cancer journey. He is way too young to be navigating such trial. Upon his diagnosis, like many, I was devastated. I sent him a note of support. I felt helpless. And then, because I still felt helpless, I sent him another note. Now, we’re pen-pals.

Especially in the midst of cancer, everyone has a right to seek a sense of ordinary and normalcy  in life. Josh’s road is full of roadblocks which make normal a fluid and compromising goal. Despite all the muck, he continues to meet me in the quest for a connection defined by tenderness and compassion via pen.

Now, Josh and I are friends. I send him weekly notes; some encouraging with many words, and some with few words. Sometimes, even written words, feel trite. Regardless, our notes have  become our new normal.

I don’t know cancer personally, but I do know when the rug of life is pulled out from under. In an instant, everything changes. Dreams profoundly shift. Next weekend’s concert tickets are hijacked by diagnostic testing. Long term plans are defined by treatments, 3-month scans, and the thread of drudge from one day to the next. Dreams are threatened. There can be an unprecedented degree of loneliness when someone faces unexpected adversity. And then there’s the helplessness of others who care from outside the epicenter of another’s story. It's hard, and unless we reach out, it’s an emotional dead end.

What I’ve learned through my connection with Josh is the power of the hand written. I’ve sent Josh many notes, but the notes I receive from him are a treasure; rich with perspective, goodness, and honesty.  His determination to fight each day for something hopeful isn’t easy. Weekly reminders that good reigns, sharing appreciation for the hummingbird, and laughing at silly salutations can reboot even the toughest days. I stand by the belief that even a bit levity can catapult a moment. What I thought was a way to help Josh has become a life link for me.

I just love going to the post office for more stamps.