So loved.

Two words that first came to mind when I pulled out my notebook last night, in tears, and jotted down my thoughts.

For Lent this year, I’m giving up possessions. Because I’m tired of all the crap and clutter that choke space. Because the Bible says not to be a slave to our possessions. And because it’s my New Year’s resolution to live a simpler life. (We’ll see how it goes.)

Each night I must give up a possession, so that when Lent ends on Easter, I will own 40 fewer “things.”

On Sunday night, I tackled a box of my childhood cards and letters. It was full of brightly colored envelopes, nearly every one of which had resealed after years of hot and cold in my parents’ attic.

I reopened each card, with adult hands. They smelled musty. Most of them came from people who are now dead.

I hurtled back in time — to happy birthdays and dinners at our house and holidays. Again, I was drawing animals alongside Aunt Tessie. Her old hands shook so that she could not draw straight lines. Judging by the pictures, my little hands were even less still.

To fight the tears and the emotions, I scribbled in a reporter notebook. Mascara ran all down my face and burned my eyes and gray tears hit the notepad. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. I am only 26, I thought, and yet most of the people  who surrounded me in childhood now lay in graves.

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