While digging through boxes of old photos and papers over the weekend, I found an envelope of old postcards from my father’s time in the Army around 1968 maybe. He was drafted during Vietnam and, by some miracle, spent the time in Germany. Lucky him, right? Either way, I don’t know the places on these postcards, nor do they mean anything to me personally other than they were my fathers. They were his memories.

Now my father has been gone from us for almost two decades. I look at these postcards and wonder what to do with them. Shall I put them back in the box? Why? So, I can pull them out again, look at them for a moment, and put them back in the box. But I think dad would instead maybe have me share these now. I will fill them out and send them to people who knew dad. People who will appreciate this little part of our family history maybe. Then, receiving these postcards of my fathers maybe will become their memories.

Postcards are meant to be sent.