When I moved back to Charlotte last year, I made a decision that felt both sentimental and necessary: I chose to keep the post office box that my dad had for as long as I can remember. Sure, I have a mailbox at the trailer park, but that post office box felt like a special link to my dad, who passed away from Covid in 2021. Every Saturday after breakfast at Big Boy, my dad would hand me the key, and I’d dash up the stairs, excitement bubbling inside me as I anticipated the treasure of letters and packages waiting for us. Those cherished memories made me want to hold onto the box, especially since it’s been in the Winters family for so long. The laughter and warmth of those weekends linger in my heart, reminding me of the bond we shared. Recently, I found myself grappling with the idea of giving it up. On the surface, it made sense; I already had a mailbox, and letting go of the box would save me some money. But today, when I walked into the post office, armed with the mail forward form...
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