Papa's Legacy

I wrote this on September 1, 1997. It is a companion piece to several other things I wrote which need to be brought out of the folder.  I'm rather proud of this one because even today I can picture it in my mind as I was writing it.   It is copy written so please if you stumble upon my blog respect that.  ©HBM 9/1/1997

PAPA'S LEGACY

At night she sits there in the old rocker with one dim light on at the far end of the room.  Slowly, she rocks back and forth holding the old faded red flannel shirt.  She touches it  against the side of her face and inhales the muskiness of the tattered material and smiles with a faraway look in her eyes.  After the funeral, her family had taken charge in their "helpful" way by boxing up and carrying off all remnants of him.  38 years of memories reduced to a carload of boxes.  They insisted they knew what was best for Mama.  They said now she could get on with her new life.  Later, after they left and the house was once again her own she allowed the tears from deep within her soul to flow.  To keep herself busy,  she went to the hamper and there quite by chance she found his favorite old red flannel shirt.  Oh the fights they had about throwing out that disgusting torn rag.  And now, here in the dim light, late into the lonely night she rocks with her hands clenched tightly to the shirt.  Her face buried deep within its' folds, inhaling his scent and dreaming that his arms were holding her tightly just one last time.