This is Why

This is why we keep things. Things like old letters and scraps of paper, kept packed away in boxes, in the bottom of the closet. Why? Simply to make me smile on a Sunday afternoon as I sit on my bedroom floor sorting through boxes to "downsize" the "stuff".

This was in a letter from my Mom. She loved to write poetry. They were living in St. George at the time and for a few years, I was able to fly down and visit for a long weekend in February or March. It was a great time to escape the rain in Seattle and I usually timed it to attend Dad's Barbershop Chorus show.

Here is the poem my Mom wrote on my last visit. It was in March of 1998 and my Father passed away three months later in June.

TRUDY CAME TO OUR HOUSE

When Trudy came to our house
Things were changed around.
She straightened up my bathroom
And now things can be found.

She helped her dad at the computer
And made him feel the king.
She made for me some ID cards
To last me plum till spring.

And then guess what happened?
Trudy went shopping at the mall
She came home with new shoes,
I thought she'd buy them all.

It was early in the morning
We drove her in the car
Where she could catch the shuttle
It was early I recall.

Now she is back in Kent
A walking in the rain
And our home will miss Trudy,
To feel her touch again.

L.c. - march 1998