Thank you, Grandma, for the newspaper clipping that you sent me

W

hen I was two, my father faxed a picture I’d made in kindergarten to his parents. He titled it, “Esther’s rendition of Noach’s Flood.” The picture is an A4 page covered in black dots (rain, I guess?).

When I was five, my grandparents bought us some paints. I covered an A4 page with painted squares and carefully wrote “Thank you” on it. My father mailed it to his parents.

When I was seven, I took another A4 page and wrote on it, “Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for the money. I bought this:” It was followed by a drawing of a box of beads. My father mailed this letter, too.

When I was eight, I carefully tore a page from the Hello Kitty diary my grandparents had sent me and wrote, “Thank you for the diary. Today, I wrote about school in it, with a green pen.” The pink Hello Kitty paper was placed in an envelope and winged its way to my grandparents.

When I was ten, I used an A3 paper headed with the words “Thank You.” I wrote, “Thank you, Grandma, for the pretty birthday card.” This was the first time I’d received something from Grandma alone; Grandpa had died of a heart attack a few months previously.