I put this card away a couple of years ago, in the white binder there behind it. That's where all the cards of condolence I've gotten over the cats are stored. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Jody's dad, Jim, sent me me this card for my birthday in 2005. When I opened it, it gutted me. I actually sobbed. It still has the power to bring tears to my eyes. My birthday is five days before Jody's. The thought that this man could send birthday greetings to someone else's son, just days before the first one his own son would not be there for, is one of the most transcendent things that's ever happened to me in my life. Words failed me then. They still do.
I came out from work to make coffee this morning and saw this picture of Jody from his early years in college, collaborating on some project. Something reminded me of the card, and I realized that since I moved the digital frame over to the electric fireplace, there was room again for the card. So I took it out again and put it where it belongs. Where I'll always see it. And I'll always remember.