Once every two weeks I can be found walking into the local post office.
I grin and push my envelopes through the mail slot, silently wishing that they reach the intended recipient. I cradle the rest of the envelopes and approach the counter, where I receive a familiar greeting from the mail carrier. “Where to this week?” he remarks as I hand over the mail that will be traveling farther than the others. “Oh, you know The UK, Germany, and Australia, the usual,” I simply reply as he adds up the total of the stamps to be purchased. He never questions the art that is prominently displayed on the envelope or the fact that the words ‘sent with love’ are written where I licked it shut. “They will be out in the mail shortly,” he says as I turn to leave. I jangle my car keys in my hand and smile knowing that my words are helping someone in need. The hours, hand poised at paper searching for the right words to say are far from my mind as I cross the busy street. My words, the words the recipient needs to hear are on their way and I sigh in satisfaction knowing that two weeks from now I will be carrying another bundle of letters. Before last year you couldn’t have paid me to go to the post office. “The practice of mailing letters is dying out,” I would have stated as I changed the conversation to the show I watched the night before. But in the back of my mind, I wasn’t able to shake the memory of the little girl in ruby red slippers skipping excitedly to the mail box to gather what treasures had appeared there almost overnight. Memories have become precious to me, and that memory of the little girl I used to be kept finding its way back into my mind. In August of that year I sustained a concussion, a concussion that wiped many of my memories and preexisting sense of identity clear out the window. I was struggling to remember what to order at a restaurant, what my favorite movie was, and how words on a page that had previously taken me a matter of minutes to read were now taking me an hour. No matter how hard I tried, the words and their meanings continued to frustrate me. I would go out and spend my time and money just buying books I had plans to read in the future when the words could make more sense again. It was on one of these outings, in the middle of an Ollie’s on a Saturday, that my life started to begin again. I perused the books, running my fingers over their spine and casually ever so often picking one up to breathe in it’s scent. By scanning the ransacked bookshelves, I was creating a hope within me that one day I would be able to read them again with the same love and understanding as before. That’s when it caught my eye; the cover was picture of lined paper with the words IF YOU FIND THIS LETTER: A MEMOIR by Hannah Brencher. If you don’t believe that a book can spark a change in the world you haven’t been reading the right ones. This book was the start of my journey with More Love Letters. By writing letters to strangers who were struggling, I was able to overcome my own struggles and make a difference in the world. In summary the book details the journey of Hannah, a girl who longed to make a difference in the world. One day Hannah makes a promise to the Internet: “If you need a letter, some words of encouragement, I will write you one, no questions asked.” The requests came pouring in from all over the world, from people who needed to remember what it was like to know that someone was thinking about them. Hannah’s project produced the non-profit foundation More Love Letters. I imagined the rush of the subway train under my fingers sitting next to Hannah while she penned the first love letter that would change her life and mine forever. Within moments of finishing the book, I was typing those three little words into google. Little did I know that the first result on the list would be the place on the internet I would soon call home. I clicked on the button LETTER REQUESTS and I don’t think my heart or my browser has left that page since. There were names, each name a different story, a different reason why someone in their life felt they needed a letter of hope and encouragement. I sat on my back porch pouring my heart out to each person that needed to be reminded they were not alone. Karen had just lost the love of her life to cancer and didn’t think she could go on living in a world where he wasn’t there. Tears stained the paper as I wrote: “This world has more to offer you than the empty side of the bed where he used to lay. I’m sorry for your loss, and if I could hug you and put all the pieces of your life back together for you I would. We all lose someone in life, it’s the sad, terrible truth and I’m deeply sorry it had to happen to you. All we can do is hold onto the memories and know that we were lucky enough to hold them for the time we did. The pain in your heart will lessen and one day you will be able to laugh again. That day will be the best and worst day of your life. That will be the day that you realize that there is more this life has in store for you. It will be bittersweet, but know that you have people that will be there for you through it all.” Leslie was a victim of sex trafficking and trying to gain a life outside of her past. In the first light of day with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands I wrote what I knew she needed to hear. “You are not defined by your past. You are not defined by your mistakes, or what others did to you. You are stronger than all of that, you are in charge of your future. What you do with it is up to you, you my dear are a fighter and nothing will be able to stop you from achieving your dreams. If you have as much faith as I have in you and your ability, I know you will be able to reach every goal you set. This life isn’t done with you yet.” I started realizing that what I was writing to these individuals I had never met was what I needed to hear. They were what I wished someone would say to me in a packed subway train as I struggled to read the book in my lap. By writing these letters I was not only writing to others, but I was writing to myself. The words that I wrote were slowly changing me from the inside out. It didn’t surprise me to hear comments of “You’re different”, “It’s like you’re you again”, or “that light is back in your smile” coming from those around me. Last week I got a letter in the mail. Amongst the bills and magazine subscriptions was a letter addressed to me. “That’s odd, I don’t know anyone in New York” I muttered to myself as I ripped it open. There in shaky handwriting were the words I had been longing to hear. “Your letter was just what I needed to realize that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. You reminded me that my disorder does not define me and that I have people that will always love and support me. You helped me through a dark time and I will never be able to thank you enough for that. Thank you for letting me know I will always have a friend in Pennsylvania. Love, Debbie.” I felt a tear slide down my cheek as I remembered Debbie’s story of depression and feeling that she didn’t belong anywhere because of her learning disability. If I could inspire one person to overcome the obstacles in their life, I knew that it was all worthwhile. I carried the letter inside and sat down, opening my web browser to the LETTER REQUESTS. There were people out there that needed my letters; my words were breaking the barrier of distance and inspiring someone that needed the encouragement to keep living. So, if one day you find a letter in your mailbox from a place you never heard of with the words “Sent with Love” written on the envelope, don’t be scared. Know that a girl that cares an awful lot sat down and wrote you a letter.
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