I was talking to my mother yesterday about my “love letters.”  She didn’t know that I have about 40-50 letters that my husband wrote to me the entire time we were married.  I would find a note in my shoe when I was getting ready for work; mostly, he would leave a letter stuck to the door with an Elmo magnet.

We are no longer married, but the love never died and we are good friends.  Even now, he occasionally sends me an email to tell me that I’m taking good care of our son and that I’m a good mom.

I was thinking about grouping them all together in a book to save for my son and his future children.  I know he wouldn’t want to read them now, but maybe when he’s older.  I think they are special and should be preserved—who writes letters anymore?

I woke up today thinking about the other letters I have in my teenage box of ephemera.  I have a few letters from 1985 when my BFF spent the summer in Florida.  I have letters my cousin sent from all over the world while cruising on a Navy battleship.  I have all the email correspondence from my funny, satirical brother, whose middle name is brevity—those are gold.  I have a letter my 4^th great-grandfather wrote to his brother in 1823.   Truly priceless.

Text messages and Facebook status updates are today’s letters.  I have instant messages sent between my brother and my son when he was five or six.  Last year, I saved about three hours of Facebook chatter between my extended family, while we waited for my cousin to deliver her baby.  Family from all over the country shared this special moment, with my aunt outside the delivery room with a smartphone, sending us instant updates.  What a treasure.

It makes me happy to know that one day my grandchildren will read these and know something about their history.  I look at pictures of my ancestors and wonder who they were and why they did what they did.  Every letter, email, text or status update is a record of everyday life and they must be preserved.