Today’s guest blogger is Guideposts’ senior digital editor Sabra Ciancanelli.
My husband’s best friend Mark always sent greeting cards. There wasn’t a holiday, birthday or anniversary that wasn’t honored with an encouraging card and note—and always arriving exactly on time.
How does he do it? we wondered.
There was only one time a card arrived on the wrong day. It was in mid-January when my husband brought in the mail, he recognized Mark’s handwriting. Opening up the card he said, “That’s odd. It’s two weeks early.”
Two days later, Mark died suddenly of a heart attack. We were heartbroken by the news, but the odd coincidence of getting one last birthday card, comforted us that Mark was okay.
That was two years ago, and every holiday, every birthday since then is a little lonely without his greetings. Hanging up the Christmas cards this year I thought about how we missed him. Of course his Christmas card was usually the first to arrive.
My husband was stringing the lights on the porch. “Do you know where the replacement bulbs are?” he asked. I found a box filled with old lights on a shelf in the basement. I started to unpile the bulbs looking for what he needed.
At the bottom of the box something bright red caught my eye. An envelope. I turned it over. Mark’s handwriting. Opening it up, I read his wishes for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Holding the card to my heart, I shook my head at the timing. An old Christmas card from years ago, somehow put back in the envelope and packed away. Found right when we needed it. The only card in the bottom of a box of old lights.
Of course, if anyone could send us a Christmas card from heaven, it’d be Mark.
