Last Love Letter
My cousin was a year older.
He was the second grandchild.
He was the younger brother
I was the first granddaughter.
My cousin lived three hours away.
I saw him and his brother
only some weekends. Two or three a year.
He was a sweet, quiet baby.
When I was six, I wrote him love letters
on scrap paper.
When I was ten, he taught my brother
how to turn his eyelids inside out
that made me run screaming.
We played baseball with socks wrapped in electrical tape.
I privately competed against him.
He was a funny, reserved, young man.
He once wanted to be a store Santa
because young women liked to sit
in Santa's lap for a picture.
When I was twenty-six, he died.
and I forgot everything but the pain.
and a vigilante hummingbird.
I forgot his smile.
I forgot his laugh.
I forgot his wit.
I forgot his love for his nephew.
I would have traded anything to have
To hug him the last time I saw him.
To Tell Him I Loved Him.
And I cried
Tonight I found some pictures.
And I remembered:
How he was sweet
How he loved his nephew
How he was funny
His desire to be Santa
Hide and Seek
and i cried.
This was one of the few things I wrote when I wasn't writing. It was for Ronnie. I really like this poem, although it made me bawl while I was typing it for this post. So much so that my little girl walked up to me and said "Mommy, you are crying. Let me hug you." Hope you liked it. (Also I spell checked this one. I noticed too many typos in "Thank You".)