We made the trip up to my sister-in-law's memorial a couple weeks ago. This was my older brother's wife and over the years she had become like a second mom. I will miss her. I know that my bother misses her desperately. She had cancer and it won.
My mother and I used to write letters. She was a great letter writer and to her it was an art (she was an artist - in her spare time). We rarely talked on the phone and she taught me by example (and through practice) how to write a letter. I missed this when she died.
My sister-in-law loved to write as well and she sort of took up where my mother left off. We wrote often and I will miss this.
When my mother died I wrote this for her - and now I read it for my sister:
Mom's Song #8
By Stuart Baker
So - how do I do this?
So why do I try?
The basket is filling;
the pen running dry.
The words keep on coming,
but their meaning is wrong.
So who do I write to
now that you're gone?
So what happened to wit
and humor so dry?
The words either to die
on the page where they lie;
or they drone on, and on, and on, and on ....
Who do I write to
now that your gone?
The eyes of the beholder,
when they're gazing back,
can inspire beauty
where talent is slack.
(at least that was the road
you were leading me down)
But when those eyes close
does the beauty go on?
So who do I write to
now that you're gone?
[Sing the following ]
But who's gonna finish the story;
with ending yet so far from view?
'My Life and The Times',
though none of it rhymes,
would still have been music to you.
( musical break)
[back to spoken ]
So - I guess I'll continue;
just in case you were right.
Just in case there is value;
not just in your sight.
But just so you to know it -
so you don't get me wrong -
it's you who I write to
even now that you're gone.
[Sung]
It's you who I write to
Even now....
