A friend’s kind words spill forth from the cache of greeting cards she left behind

Mailbox love notes were her trademark and for anyone lucky enough to know my dear friend, Cynthia Karraker, she was a woman constantly reaching out and giving to others — sowing seeds of kindness, gathering harvests of love and friendship. Seldom, if ever, at a loss for words, she was perhaps the only person I knew who always found precisely the right way to fill a moment of darkness. Until, of course, her own light began dimming. To that she took a vow of silence and in its place upped her game, sending even more cheerful, upbeat messages:

You fill my world with love and my life with happiness.

You are my sunshine.

Je t’aime.

When she died last September, I inherited a room full of plastic bins overflowing with brand new, never-been-used greeting cards inspired by Hallmark, Papyrus, Sunrise, Caspari, and artists like Bebe Long and Mary Englebreit. Birthday confetti, stanzas of poetry, Bible verses, encouraging words, heartfelt condolences — it was all there, including dozens of blank cards designed for any occasion.

Bundled and earmarked with florescent sticky notes, her stunning collection spanned the vast circle of life:

Birthdays. Weddings. Anniversaries. New babies. Baptisms. Graduations. Congratulations and good luck on your new job. Bon voyage. Safe travels. Happy retirement. Get well soon. Thinking of you. Just because. And alas, sympathy.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, perusing each card and category, I delighted in her obsession while missing our friendship like crazy. Spilling into my lap were cards for every rite of passage and life transition — from big and small to absurd and astonishing. She had organized them neatly and in chronological order (as if there is such a thing when it comes to the human condition).

Don’t be afraid to sit in the front row of your life.

I wish retail therapy was covered by health insurance.

Does running away from your responsibilities count as exercise?

One of the larger bins, strictly devoted to holidays, started with Christmas and Hanukkah, and included Halloween, Easter, Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day — her favorite of all special occasions. In her honor I’m sending a dozen or so “Be my Valentine” cards to people holding my heart but who also knew hers.

Gary, Fred, Julie.

Beth, Gayle, Paul.

Sue, Newton, Mary.

Nancy, Jay, Reba.

The hundreds of cards caused a bit of a hiccup at first — instigating a major overhaul and rearrangement of kitchen cabinets where they now reside in a set of oversized drawers once devoted to Pyrex dishes, pots, Bundt pans and cookie sheets. I hear her giggling at the thought.

Hang in there.

Together is a wonderful place to be.

I love you to the moon and back.

Over the years, we took turns ushering in the arrival of babies and grandchildren, job promotions, retirements, new homes, second careers, personal victories and defeats, including grief and despair over lost loved ones and eventually including our own secret fears, internal struggles and illnesses. I wasn’t one bit surprised finding the oversized Ziploc bag containing every glittered and embellished card exchanged between us during our “Divine Ya Ya Sisterhood.” Despite endless unclutter-your-life advice crowding social media feeds and published annually by magazines like Good Housekeeping and Real Simple, both of us were hopeless savers — our correspondence now leaving a permanent paper trail of cherished memories and life stories.

Friends are angels in disguise with wings that lift your spirits and help carry your dreams with eyes that see the possibility in every new idea.

On a recent morning, on the cusp of dreaded newscasts exploiting details of Kobe Bryant’s untimely death, noted celebrities are encouraging fans to spread love. My mind immediately shifts to this unlikely gift of inheritance. Rushing downstairs, pulling open kitchen drawers housing and guarding the cards, I grab a heaping handful. Rethinking my day, opting to cancel appointments, I sit gathering thoughts at the kitchen table, then fill notecards with handwritten messages to estranged friends, long lost relatives, grandchildren, teachers, former colleagues. So easy to lose touch, get wrapped up in the minutia of everyday this and that. By 4 o’clock, they are mailed.

My newfound inheritance: priceless. Not just paper. Even in death, she gifted me time and permission to press the pause button in order to celebrate the tender, miniscule, even mundane milestones of life — those gone in a flash, “I’m thinking of you” moments often entering our minds with noble intention but never seeing the light of day. Like a quiet whisper that says, “You matter.”

With Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s a perfect time to write a love note. Buy a few stamps. Make someone’s day.

Spread love.