After she passed, her small box of letters, cards, and keepsakes that she had gathered in her room got mistakenly tossed out. It was a jolt when she passed, and another one not to have those keepsakes that Mom had kept to help the healing process, so I began to write her again.
And why not write Mom again? Who's to say for sure she can't hear me as I'm writing? At bear minimum it was excellent therapy. Think art therapy meets psychic phenomenon. What you have before you are a years' worth of cards and letters. Mysteriously the urge for writing ceased a year to the date of her passing.
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