The problem was that my father had passed away from a sudden heart attack ten years ago.I stood on my front porch, my hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped the rest of the mail. I stared at the postmark: it was stamped June 1998. This letter had been lost in the postal system for over twenty-seven years, floating in some unknown limbo, only to be delivered on this specific Tuesday. The timing was terrifying because I was currently in the middle of the darkest week of my life. I was finalizing a brutal divorce, my finances were in ruins, and I had spent the previous night crying, feeling like I had failed everyone who had ever loved me.
Terrified and emotional, I sat down on the porch steps and carefully tore open the fragile envelope. Inside was a simple, store-bought birthday card intended for my 30th birthday- a milestone I had passed a long time ago. The card itself was generic, but the note written in blue ink was everything.
My father had written:
"Becky, I know you worry about the future and you always feel like you have to be perfect. But I want you to know that I am proud of the woman you are, not just what you achieve. You are stronger than you think, and you are loved more than you know. Love, Dad."
I broke down sobbing, clutching the card to my chest. If I had received this card back in 1998, when life was easy and sunny, I probably would have smiled, said "Thanks, Dad," and tossed it into a drawer, forgotten in a week. It would have been just another birthday greeting. But receiving it now, ten years after his death and in the middle of my greatest crisis, turned it into a lifeline. It felt like a direct message from heaven, a reminder that I wasn't abandoned. It was as if God had seen this dark week coming decades in advance and had reached down to hold that letter back, hiding it in a sorting machine or under a bin for twenty years, just to ensure it arrived on the exact day I needed it to survive.
