One of the problems we had when my mother
had Alzheimer’s disease was that lots of mail was delivered every day. My
mother was an active person. She had many friends and many kinds of jobs. Many
people sent mail to her.
She hired a licensed tax accountant and
advised me to manage the letters. I didn’t want to do it, but no one except me
could. I didn’t have a choice.
We lived together, but I was really
hesitant to open the letters to my mother. I felt as if I was doing something
wrong.
I started to manage the letters to my
mother. There were a lot of letters. A few cardboard boxes were full of them.
She ran a supplementary school, so many of
the letters were advertisements about teaching materials. We decided to close
the supplementary school. I called the companies and asked them to stop sending
us more teaching materials. I called about 100 companies.
There were polite handwritten letters. I
couldn’t throw them away. I thought they might be important letters. When I
visited the memorial halls of great persons, I saw their handwritten letters
being exhibited. So I kept those letters.
There were letters from public offices.
Those were written ritualistically. They were boring, so I threw them away.
There were letters from financial
institutions. They were made up of just numbers. I couldn’t understand them, so
I threw them away.
One day, the accountant scolded me
extremely hard. I believe my heart had been in the right place, but I’d done
the opposite of what I should have done.
My mother had lived a successful life. She
was famous in her industry. She was a great person, but she was not so great
that someone would build a memorial hall for her. The polite handwritten
letters had been important, but most of them had not been urgent. I should have
continued her correspondence on her behalf, but I hadn’t had time for that.
The letters from the public offices and
financial institutions had not been heartwarming, but they had been important.
Someone should have taken care of them. I called the public offices and financial
institutions and asked them to reissue the letters. It was an extremely
complicated procedure.
I haven’t sent a handwritten letter in a
long time. I haven’t received one in a long time either. Most people might be
the same.
If I were to visit the memorial hall of a
future great person, there might not be handwritten letters. There might be
exhibitions of their social media correspondence.
Proofreading
by ProofreadingServices.com
Picture
by Tugumi Kougei
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