I have a small envelope of some of her things. Miscellany, mostly. Notes, a pocket mirror, church brochures, a bobby pin. There's also a small stack of worn cuts of binder paper. You can tell they were held and read over and over-- she hand wrote about a dozen prayers and would read from these throughout the day.
I miss her. Her delicate cursive is so telling of who she was. They make me cry so I try not to look into this envelope too much.
But today, it's okay. Happy Birthday, Mama Hely. Mahal kita.