A Card Arrives Late

Yesterday, my aunt's annual Christmas parcel. Today, a couple of cards: one in my grandmother's shaky writing, the other from the UK, in neater script. No return address on either card (though I'd know my grandmother's writing anywhere). I open the one from the UK: not from my other grandmother, but my aunt and uncle. Thanking me for the card and flowers I sent when my oldest cousin passed last year. That they wanted to send me this card last year, but didn't. A note as well about how much those meant to them; how they were trying to move on, and how hard that was.

Something in that stopped me and I stood and cried for a minute. Remembered what someone told me once. How grief is never linear.