When Mom first went into her assisted living facility those of us out of town were on the phone with her all of the time. She got calls from across the country multiple times a day along with daily and weekly visits. I called her from the office often. But her hearing after a few years finally gave out and using the phone shortly thereafter became frustrating for her and us. She didn't lack for care and attention, but the phone just became a futile exercise. Well now I'm stuck several states away and although visiting every few months that wasn't good enough for me or her. I wasn't going to stop communicating with her so in the meantime I began to write letters on note cards at least monthly.
After she passed, her small box of letters, cards, and keepsakes that she had gathered in her room got mistakenly tossed out. It was a jolt when she passed, and another one not to have those keepsakes that Mom had kept to help the healing process, so I began to write her again.
And why not write Mom again? Who's to say for sure she can't hear me as I'm writing? At bear minimum it was excellent therapy. Think art therapy meets psychic phenomenon. What you have before you are a years' worth of cards and letters. Mysteriously the urge for writing ceased a year to the date of her passing.