The New England blizzard deposited 22 inches of snow around her building, but she was warm and safe.
While I was moving her, I discovered old boxes of letters and cards she had saved over the years. I couldn’t help taking a few minutes to sift through the piles, and I found treasures!
I recognized the handwriting in a poem I wrote to my dad while he was in Vietnam. (I think I was in fourth grade.) The first line shows my typical “big-sister” bossy self: Daddy, I had the idea of a poem first. Debbie copied me!
Daddy, we miss you such an awful, awful lot,
We hope you sleep on a soft, fluffy bed, not an old rag cot.
I was embarrassed by the second, a poorly written piece I attempted in college. I called it “On Contemplating the Thought That I’ve Finally Grown Up,” a poem letting my parents know how much I appreciated them. What a mush of sickening sweet, flowery stuff. At least I worked on line breaks:)