Four lines, every time
Elena Ionescu· Daughter· Every year, without fail
Forty-one postcards. I counted them after he died. From Sibiu, from Brașov, from a petrol station outside Deva, from a hospital in Cluj where he spent six days and told nobody. Always the same four lines: what the weather was doing, whether the food was any good, a question about the dog, and then: everything is in order here. We found the last one in his jacket pocket. It was addressed to my son, who is three, and it had not been posted yet.
Added 5 February 2026