My maternal grandmother loved to 📚read. As a child, I remember sitting on her lap while she read from Little Prudy books and laughing at the tales of Sister Susy. I still have those books.🥰 We both loved non-fiction, especially biographies. We gravitated towards fiction involving some 😩sad story- the more tragic, the better. We discussed books and shared articles with each other way back when we had to ✂️cut them out of magazines or newspapers. There was one particular selection that she shared with me from Reader’s Digest that stuck with both of us.
It was about a woman who learned she was dying and felt she had nothing of value to leave her three sons.😥 But, with few possessions and no 💰bank account to share, she had a different 🤔idea. The mother wrote each of her sons a 📝letter telling what he meant to her. While that was special, the closing was the true treasure. Each letter was signed: “I hope you know that I love you best of all.”❤️
That phrase became our phrase.💕 We signed cards and letters that way. We said it to each other. I knew that she really didn’t love me ‘best of all,’ but that didn’t stop me from feeling extraordinary. I think it was mostly because we shared something. We had this thing between us- just us. We understood what that mother meant when she told each son that she loved him best of all. And we made sure to give the same message to each other.💝
I love you best of all. 💝 I love you to the moon. 💝Love ya with all my heart. 💝 I can do that for you. 💝Hope you have an awesome day! 💝Fasten your seatbelt. 💝Be careful. 💝I made this for you. 💝Text me when you get there. 💝 I trust your opinion.💝 It’s great to see you.💝 Thank you for helping me.💝 No matter how you say it, make sure the people around you know how you feel.💖
sharing the stairs 