Just a Note...

Mom packed up an old steamer trunk
sometime after my father died.
All the moments they'd shared together
were carefully and lovingly stored inside.

She'd left me a letter scotch-taped to the lid
telling me in general what she'd placed in there,
said to let it be until time had passed,
that I'd know when the time came to share.

Three times I'd moved that unpacked trunk,
three states later and fifteen years.
Finally, with life settled,
I could approach this task without falling to tears.

Now married to the one man my folks truly loved,
secure in myself, feeling strong to my core,
I finally unlocked and reopened her story,
discovering love and so much more.

The letters they wrote on a regular basis,
just written to share thoughts and dreams,
left in odd places for the other to find
and kept for always. It seems

to be a plan for our futures,
my brother and I, and grandkids too.
A reaching back and reaching forward;
history and future thus imbued.

Her nursing cap, my dad's wings,
a story she wrote and some of his art.
Pictures I'd drawn when I was six,
photographs of my brother at Comiskey Park.

A stone they'd picked up in Lake George, NY,
a shell from the beach they loved in St. Croix,
my first blue ribbon, my first published work,
my brother's stuffed lion from when he was just a boy.

A picture of the grandkids,all lined up in a row,
an article written in Rolling Stone,
a program from a Broadway play
all told me that I was never alone.

At the bottom, my mother left me a card;
white with the words 'Thank You' written in pink.
For what was all my mind could muster,
the other way round was all I could think.

Her note inside made me cry,
she was thanking us for giving her joy.
Telling just how much she loved us,
how proud she was of her girl and her boy.

Part of me wishes I hadn't waited so long,
and that my brother was still around,
as it would have meant so much to him
to read this letter that I found.

Though I am the last one standing,
life goes onward all the time,
we always carry forth the memories--
and these sustain me for all are mine.

Thanking us for being their children--
something I'd never thought of before.
And yet, looking forward, I understand
and need to thank my own even more.