Barbara J. Hamby

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It’s Only a Piece of Paper

I carried a stack of papers out to the dining room, where I could sort them and watch T.V. (or listen to it) simultaneously. That stack has been tucked in a closet since I moved back in here slightly over a year ago. I intended to reduce it by at least half of its height. That didn’t happen.

As I examined each sheet, be it a picture, a letter, or other printed matter, I’d say to myself, It’s only a piece of paper. Yea, right.

One piece of paper was written on by my dear friend of more than sixty years, who recently passed away. Another was a computer picture of her that she sent me and I printed. A few others were old pictures from our teens that she had copied for me. Another old friend who passed away several years ago is in one of those pictures.

When I look at those pictures, I’m taken back to those times, if only for a tender moment.

Some pieces were postcards or snapshots gathered on trips. Some were letters or greeting cards from relatives or long-time friends. Some were articles “of lasting interest” I’d clipped for rereading at my convenience. A couple of the pieces were cartoons I’ve kept to photocopy and send to others at appropriate times.

My practical side knows I can’t keep shuffling these papers for the rest of my life. But my heart cries: Only a piece of paper? I don’t think so.