My Dad found an envelope from the past. In it were: one tribute, three poems, and a cardboard, three-piece, folding-out fan.
The fan was one my mother used when she took us to camp-meeting and church camp in the summer. It was hot in the services and she always took that with her. Written on the back, in her handwriting, is her name. Underneath her name, are the names of four of the churches at which my dad was a pastor. She was making sure she got it back, if left behind. God says that she doesn't need it in Heaven, so I get to have it now.
One of the poems my dad wrote after he had to retire from being a minister because of mother's health almost twenty years ago.
The tribute is one I wrote and read in church on Father's day about 15 years ago after my mother had died and dad remarried. I still have my Daddy. Even now when he introduces me to someone he calls me 'his little girl'. He just turned 80. I treasure every moment I have with him.
Two of the poems were written by my brother who passed away over 25 years ago. He had epilepsy and died at 29. The ravages of the seizures had made him an old man who walked with a cane.
I have one other brother who is still living and writing on this site PSanta-I'm ba-ack!. You can meet him for yourself. I also have three children. My one and only son is also a member of Writing.Com B.L. Houghtalin Get acquainted with him, too. He's one of my greatest pride and joys.Two of my other pride and joys are my two girls, who don't do writing like the rest of us, but I will try to get them to include something for this page.
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