It was a small box. No return address I recognized. I opened it with curiosity and immediately saw a handwritten letter tucked inside—delicate cursive on simple paper. Underneath were several photos.
I sat down and began to read.
She shared that the clothes I had sent had carried her through the most difficult stretch of her life. At the time, she had just escaped a painful relationship and was trying to build a new life from nothing. She had felt alone, defeated, and uncertain of how she would provide for her daughter.
She described how receiving that package made her feel seen again—like someone out there cared.
“You reminded me that there is still kindness in the world,” she wrote.
“When I felt invisible, you made me feel human.”
And then I looked at the photos.
There she was—her daughter—smiling, bright-eyed, laughing in a little floral dress I remembered folding so many months ago. In another picture, she was bundled in a cozy coat I almost didn’t include. And in each photo, the little girl looked happy, safe, and loved.
The Weight of Small Things
Continue reading…
