He was a collector. If it wasn't maps, books or political buttons, it was stamps. He started collecting stamps as a young boy, fascinated by the stamps that came from his parents' homeland and with domestic stamps, on his parents' mail. His love of history and creativity of design made stamp collecting a perfect hobby. The other collections followed the same criteria. It took me awhile to discover his collecting fever. When we first married, the collecting fever wasn't apparent. However, I began to notice National Geographics piling up. He refused to throw them away, because of the maps that were valuable tohim. I would throw an envelope in the trash and later see it on his dresser, because he had saved it for the stamp.
Later in our marriage, he would spend an occasional lunch hour visiting an auction house, where he would bid on stamp lots. When he would win, it made up for traffic jams getting to and from work or an exceptionally difficult day. As long as his collecting was fruitful, he overlooked all other negatives. One day, he was at the auction house, when a birthday and anniversary postcard lot was listed. He bid on it for mybirthday and won. Again, he was thrilled to win and additionally pleased that he could present me with such aunique gift. It was a special gift, because I have always been impressed with the details of things that were manufactured years ago. He was especially intrigued by the graphics and the history. Both of us loved reading the heartfelt messages on the backs of some of the postcards. After a wonderful 32nd birthday of sharing this gift, the cards were put in a box in the closet to be saved, of course.
A year later, he went into the hospital for outpatientsurgery. He came out six months later with the symptoms similar to Alzheimer's and a stroke. He no longer could concentrate on collecting. He couldn't remember yesterday, let alone what he did five minutes ago. His short term memory was gone. I would tell him it was a special day in the morning, and five minutes later the thought was gone. He often said that someone must be changing the calendar because it no longer made sense to him. Birthdays, Valentines Day and our anniversary on February13th, were all depressing. It was difficult to think that he would not grasp the idea that our years together weregrowing each year. In his mind, our anniversary wouldalways be 13 years, and I would forever be 32. It was difficult to know that I would never again hold some new tangible gift of his love. It wasn't so much the getting of the gift as was the giving of his creative self that I did, and would, miss. The creativity that was such a huge part of him was gone; gone from his drawings, gone from his joke telling; gone from his gift giving. It wasa thing of the past.
The past was exactly the word that hung in my brain and caused me to think of last year's box in the closet . I reminisced, while looking at each card, and with each card I looked at, my mindset began to change. I saw that there were enough cards for each birthday and each anniversary to last my lifetime. Unknowingly, the gift he provided last year would continue, in the years ahead,to provide words and pictures that John picked out for me. For fifteen years, it has been his continuing gift of love and a continuing way for his creative expression of love to continue. Each year I go to the box and pick out one card for celebrations to read from him. His collecting, his sentimental thoughts, his careful selection of a gift that was just perfect in saying, "I love you," were not a thing of the past! It continues to live on even now, after his death. When I need to feel him close, I take out my box. I hold a postcard in my hand, and it makes me feel like I am holding a part of him.