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The Lost Art Of a Handwritten Note

I think we can all agree that the handwritten note is becoming a lost art. And I am just as guilty as anyone else. Modern technology makes it so easy. We type an email, send a text, and move on with our day. It’s quick, convenient, and usually forgotten just as quickly.

But something happened recently that got me thinking about what we may have lost along the way.

I’ve been in the US for a few weeks, and my daughter has saved some things from my dad. He was the kind of man who liked to write little notes. Nothing particularly elaborate or important, just a few words written in his own hand. She has framed some of them and hung them on her wall.

Every time I see them, something happens that I find difficult to explain.

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My dad has been gone for nine years. I remember the last time I saw him, and like most of us, there are things I wish I could say to him one more time. But when I stand there looking at those little notes, I feel something I don’t get from an old email or a text message. For a moment, it almost feels as though he is right there with me again.

I can see his handwriting. I can imagine him sitting down, picking up a pen, and taking a moment to write those words. I don’t need to know what he was thinking about that day or why he wrote them. The fact that he did is enough.

That’s the thing about a handwritten note. Someone held that piece of paper. Their hand moved across it. Those words came from them, in their own handwriting, with all the little imperfections that made it theirs. No spell-check, no perfect fonts, no screen separating the writer from the person reading it.

Just Dad.

We spend so much of our lives embracing the next new thing, and most of the time, that’s a good thing. Technology has made our lives easier in countless ways. But I wonder if, in making communication so effortless, we’ve also made it a little less personal.

A text can tell someone you’re thinking about them. A handwritten note can become something they hold on to for the rest of their lives.

My daughter probably didn’t know how much those framed notes would mean to me. She saved them because they belonged to her grandfather, and now, years later, they have become something more. They are a small piece of him that we can still see and touch.

So maybe the handwritten note isn’t entirely a lost art. Maybe it’s just something we’ve forgotten to make time for.

The next time you think of someone, take a moment and write them a note. It doesn’t have to be profound. It doesn’t have to be beautifully written. Just a few words, in your own handwriting, letting someone know they matter to you.

You never know. What seems like an ordinary little note today might become something precious to someone years from now.

I know my dad’s notes have become that for me.